Velvet Ribbons

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
I was originally going to submit this in a poetry entry for a scholarship, but then I wrote some others that replaced this one. This one is very vague but very symbolic. What does it mean, you think?

Submitted: January 24, 2014

A A A | A A A

Submitted: January 24, 2014

A A A

A A A


Something in my eye—is it gloom again?
A myth made for morose men
Tells of those chosen by subliminal declamations,
Who scream at the sky and one-sided reflections.

Shells I wish not to collect,
Resound after an emptiness that forebodes catastrophe.
Esprit de corps and an emotionless elect,
Survives in the torment of the earth and mind, the decimation of body.

A star of serenity shackled in the dark,
Cringes as all but a heart hung dry.
Lead fingertips and sullen footsteps refrain distance beyond the mark,
And rivers like strands of string dangle over the edge.

Visions of a disembarking vessel down murky lanes,
And voices captivate my memory locked away from hearing;
Traveling tranquility trails on an endless turn of a road.
Never did I remember to check the time.

Hungry will I be by tomorrow as soon as tomorrow remembers.
Wheels crunch the dirt of the road,
My eyes are but passerby,
And latched hands are unlatching the door.

Shimmering rays of gold brighten up the field.
Barley brought in for the season,
Fidgety wagons creaking down wide bridle paths of grey,
And stained slacks and happiness are opening the farmhouse door.

A vague recollection unintended,
The house needs to be painted soon.
Chips away every second for a memory:
Exchanged till cessation decides to make an arrival.

Fluttering laced dress, white on the smoothness of skin,
Summer eyes and lucidity of complexion, says to me,
“Supper smells wonderful, my dear.”

And these memories of simplicity and warmth echo, as I am homely once again.

Removal of miniscule expectancy,
Deafness succumbed to repulsions to and fro,
Are incessant trifles to the shocked of heart.
Suddenly the rampart of soundness has been breached.

Returning to a hundred miles distant:
Crisp and flowing wind through golden crops
Consoles me, and a rampant grey is shunning the sun,
While bursting forces shatter the stems and splinter the earth.

“You silly.”
Breezes of complaisant remnants return over my heedless frame,
“My sweet, there is something I must tell you—”
As velvet ribbons clothe my fading attention.


 


© Copyright 2019 Liam Strong. All rights reserved.

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