The click of her teeth
marks the time spilled,
the lives spliced, wounded,
inside her grin.
Words keep raining like shrapnel,
bruising the fabric, splitting the seams,
reverberating hollow inside her.
Histories are recorded
on these spittle-sheened lips,
their tales untested by truth,
their weightlessness aiding
their flight, their fruitation.
This is modern folk-taling
without the passing of rites,
or guided growth. Only
the sores of society torn loose
to reveal the blood beneath,
seeping with the untruths
she stitches them with.















Comments
Well done, lovely.
--
Me: I would be terrified if someone asked me to make a family tree.
Me: and all the cousins I mean? that's JUST my mother's side.
<annika235>that wouldnt be a tree
<annika235>it's a FOREST
I'm still convinced I've lost my talent. If I ever had one in the first place.
xo
--
Just kiss me once in the snow, I swear it never gets old.
I asked for an umbrella and you took away the rain.
--
Me: I would be terrified if someone asked me to make a family tree.
Me: and all the cousins I mean? that's JUST my mother's side.
<annika235>that wouldnt be a tree
<annika235>it's a FOREST
I like the way you used all the bloody images, words like wounded, shrapnel, bruising, etc. to show how badly gossip hurts. Your third stanza is very effective with the phrases "tales untested by truth" and "weightlessness aiding their flight" in showing how empty her stories are. I also like the use of "spittle-sheened lips". It gives her an avidness, almost a sense of madness, in her out of control gossiping.
Your last stanza is my favorite. "Modern folk-taling without the passing of rites" is an inspired way to put it.
Really good writing. Your poetic talent is alive and well, truly it is!
--
Hey --- that's MY box of crayons!!
*Writers-Club
Thank you so much!
xo
--
Just kiss me once in the snow, I swear it never gets old.
I asked for an umbrella and you took away the rain.
--
Hey --- that's MY box of crayons!!
*Writers-Club
--
The land in silence stands.
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