Fed with constant realities
their idle waves of intent
breaking through my fears
I bear fruit to a sullen morrow
I fixate beyond the edge of myself
on the anticipated remembrance
of the snow-white place in me
where I fail to see you no more
Your face grows stark and steady
In a solitary place I keep hidden
between collar bone and chest
bubbling with the residue of unrest
My brain will build tall citadels
where your name will reiterate
like a broken disk hitting my skull
one dull thud after another drops
There are fleeting looks encircled
by the morosity of frozen cheeks
They bask in the sunlit shadows
born to the eye that blinks never
Tomorrow I will bear no weight
Like a maiden before her sunset
I will tear away my shaking limbs
in offering to the beasts that pray
Reading of the poem:
Geetha Balvannanathan's Blog - Isis Tratum