deepundergroundpoetry.com
Fruitless
I remember that clock
the plum they gave me to swallow
sliding down my throat
at the moment of birth
Every powder keg minute
a gift from Death
the time inside me
his glib reminder
that life is borrowed
binding me always
to him
Then aching at the graveyard
beside the dream
of God's pale orchard
humbling vanities
before the greatness of dust
I'd rather taste
time's sickly sherbet
and bite each bitter year
than abandon life
for such pained sleep
Published 19th Jul 2012
| Edited 28th Jul 2012
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Anonymous
19th Jul 2012 1:04pm
Aching and beautiful at the same time. Some interesting metaphorical twists. The last 5 lines a particular highlight.
20th Jul 2012 8:17am
I'm grateful for your feedback, Missy.
Still beating my poet self up about L20. I'm not sure the sherbet works, tho on the other hand it seems to fuel the contrast of emotion at play.
Still beating my poet self up about L20. I'm not sure the sherbet works, tho on the other hand it seems to fuel the contrast of emotion at play.
