deepundergroundpoetry.com
Figurines
Porcelain figures falling, cracked
Their perfection an illusion
They bleed an ichor from the past
And stains tell stories, tinted truths
"Je ne regret rien,", she sings
But I regret the thuggery
The theft of peace of mind
Instinct had its sated day
While conscience went adrift
The figurines remaining
Telling me that I have erred
And they will never be repaired.
Their perfection an illusion
They bleed an ichor from the past
And stains tell stories, tinted truths
"Je ne regret rien,", she sings
But I regret the thuggery
The theft of peace of mind
Instinct had its sated day
While conscience went adrift
The figurines remaining
Telling me that I have erred
And they will never be repaired.
Published 19th May 2018
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The author encourages honest critique.
19th May 2018 10:15pm
Such a story told here ... I have some old figurines from my great grandmother ... so are more than a little worn for wear ... nice poem my poet
20th May 2018 7:42pm
19th May 2018 10:15pm
20th May 2018 7:45pm
20th May 2018 9:01am
I wonder if all those porcelain figurines... have feelings ?!
Regardless, this was an awesome reflective write ~ 😎🌹🌞🎈🤩
Regardless, this was an awesome reflective write ~ 😎🌹🌞🎈🤩
20th May 2018 7:46pm
Thanks shadow. I don't know about the feelings but far be it from me to toss any. They're usually too lovable.
Anonymous
22nd May 2018 1:26am
My Lovely Sir Crow- this one had me uneasy - never been a fan of porcelain dolls and their frozen angelic like faces for many different reasons - seems categorically my unease was warranted - good gods if some of them could actually talk - well done!! I love you! With much love - Taryn xoxo
