Drowning in the half light
By pumadelta
- 386 reads
Black shadows cross the living room floor
Like evening crows, and rest upon the splayed book
Resting at the centre of the oak farm house dining table.
There are no voices telling stories from past days
Just memories of people who passed through
And like words, drew strength from each telling page.
A picture of the last supper hangs surreal on the wall
Beginnings were delightful, children’s play
Would fill its rooms and all the delights of spring
Would cascade through an open window.
Now the blinds are shut tight. It’s dark as coal
And death fills the void like discarded coffee in a cup.
Everything buried beneath blankets of darkness as a flickering candle
Searches for air to grow into sustained life.
I used to dream about becoming human in an inhumane world
Where the atmosphere would give support to new worlds
And abundant growth. A youth where nothing would temper me,
All around me vibrant and dazzling like shards of yellow and white
Where the chance to be human was like a life breathing vessel,
A new chapter appealing with intrigue as my life’s pages turned.
As I grew from a boy at my mother’s side
To a man standing in wasteland
Up to my neck in the sorrow I now call my world.
I would view this drowning position
With resolve but no calm
As changing winds would batter me
I became accustom to their blows
And reach for a hand of anyone who might care.
Time has a habit of changing things, change is inevitable
Like hands on a working clock refuse to stay still.
Yet the clock does not move just the hands jarring ever forward
Never getting tired all ways constant, all ways moving the light
Towards the darkness of a future which grows ever cold.
My life is a shadow in a half-lit room
Where identity is lost and nothing develops or grows
Like the book splayed and crucified upside down
Its spine stretched and aching to just let go.
On the oak farmhouse dining table
With no life around it just lonely shadows in a room
Reminding me I’m getting frailer and old.
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Comments
I like your take on
I like your take on temporality, existence, change. The sense of heaviness and weight growing out of hope is all so well expressed. Especially liked 'Everything buried beneath blankets of darkness as a flickering candle / Searches for air to grow into sustained life.'
A typo - surreal needs an extra r in the last line of paragraph one.
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