I stand in the sea.
Wave after wave of irredeemable sadness breaks over me,
washing me clean,
Washing my clean, washed corpse to the sand.
I lie on the sand,
and gust after gust of unremiting sand scours my flesh,
leaving my bones clean;
leaving nothing, but clean, white bones.
There i am, There's me,
nothing more than a skeleton of clean, white bones in the sun.
If a little girl were to pick through my bones, i would tell her,
Watch where you step. That's my ribcage.
That's my heart.
Friday, July 07, 2006
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2 comments:
wholy interesting. ending makes you think, somehow, although i don't quite understand it. work the first two stanzas... the repetition of 'clean, white bones' doesn't quite work. but very interesting, which is really good.
adam
The ending of your poem reminded me of these two lines by Yeats:
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly, because you tread upon my dreams.
- He Wishes For The Cloths Of Heaven, W.B. Yeats
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