deepundergroundpoetry.com
Four Lines
Watching through a shattered window, a man witnessed a fight.
A fight in a family broken and bent, thinking that they're alright.
Through this shattered window, distorted figures began to pace
Up the hall, in the living room, by a table with cloth of lace.
The lace pulled back from a corner of this dark-cured table,
Four lines, white, lie perfectly still, perfectly still as grains are able.
Four lines, each six inches, concentric to the blade of a knife,
Picked up as a threat, by a large man, screaming against his son’s life.
Threats run back and forth and with a final plea in this den:
And with a final plea in this den, it will never ever happen again.
A man from this shattered window weeping for his past,
Reminded of scattered memories he thought would never last.
This scene of a broken house and chaotic beauty, into his brain, it has sewn,
It plays over and over again, this scene from a broken house, in a whispered tone.
The father’s had enough, as a hand raises before a thunderclap,
And a tear falls to the floor, like the boy, following the closed-fisted slap.
Four lines watching from the table, waiting for another,
Four lines watching from the table, waiting for a mother.
A silent scream from her throat, the burning coke slips down,
A mother on the floor, feeling like she's gonna drown.
Three lines left, two people arguing, one mother dying,
Flying high to the light, ripped by an argument, tired of crying.
Slamming against the shattered glass, choking on powder, falling to the hollow floor,
A coked up mother rams the carpet of a broken home that just can't take it anymore.
Father and son watch in awe as mother struggles for her heart,
Father and son watch in awe, in a home broken from the very start.
Serenity and chaos clash as the final tears drip down.
A promise is made of rehabilitation although no one makes a sound.
Watching through a shattered window, a man witnessed a fight.
A fight in a family, broken and bent, thinking that they're alright.
A fight in a family broken and bent, thinking that they're alright.
Through this shattered window, distorted figures began to pace
Up the hall, in the living room, by a table with cloth of lace.
The lace pulled back from a corner of this dark-cured table,
Four lines, white, lie perfectly still, perfectly still as grains are able.
Four lines, each six inches, concentric to the blade of a knife,
Picked up as a threat, by a large man, screaming against his son’s life.
Threats run back and forth and with a final plea in this den:
And with a final plea in this den, it will never ever happen again.
A man from this shattered window weeping for his past,
Reminded of scattered memories he thought would never last.
This scene of a broken house and chaotic beauty, into his brain, it has sewn,
It plays over and over again, this scene from a broken house, in a whispered tone.
The father’s had enough, as a hand raises before a thunderclap,
And a tear falls to the floor, like the boy, following the closed-fisted slap.
Four lines watching from the table, waiting for another,
Four lines watching from the table, waiting for a mother.
A silent scream from her throat, the burning coke slips down,
A mother on the floor, feeling like she's gonna drown.
Three lines left, two people arguing, one mother dying,
Flying high to the light, ripped by an argument, tired of crying.
Slamming against the shattered glass, choking on powder, falling to the hollow floor,
A coked up mother rams the carpet of a broken home that just can't take it anymore.
Father and son watch in awe as mother struggles for her heart,
Father and son watch in awe, in a home broken from the very start.
Serenity and chaos clash as the final tears drip down.
A promise is made of rehabilitation although no one makes a sound.
Watching through a shattered window, a man witnessed a fight.
A fight in a family, broken and bent, thinking that they're alright.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 1
reading list entries 0
comments 0
reads 627
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.