Saturday, September 21, 2013

Feathers

The widow who came in my room
placed such a soft voice on my wounds
I thought it was my own pain that I felt
that wouldn't heal.

The tale seemed so familiar
I never thought it strange
the story-line did not resolve
except as I gave in.

Her webs went so unnoticed
I thought it was my fault
I hadn't brushed them all aside
before, my fuel consumed,
love came to blame’s rescue,
assumed responsibility
for what it couldn't know,
the echo of old auto-plays,
so victims once again could gloat
as if they have no souls.

It was only a ghost who appeared that day
—some memory of compassion—
how real I became in what I gave
to what dared not exist.

1 comment:

the walking man said...

Her webs went so unnoticed
I thought it was my fault
I hadn't brushed them all aside
before, my fuel consumed,
love came to blame’s rescue,
assumed responsibility
for what it couldn't know,
the echo of old auto-plays,
so victims once again could gloat
as if they have no souls.


Absolutely stunning use of words! Love came to blames rescue---wish I had written that--but everyone who knows me knows i couldn't write that perfect of a line.