Poem -
the weight of cushions
The windowsill wilts there along
with the flowers
The rain runs damp tears down
windows grey cold
The curtains, half closed, display
glorious cobwebs
The day hours pass though they
pass on their own
An armchair sighs softly its
cushions a weight
A postman creeps past through
the creak of a gate
A letter falls down to its death by
the door
The clock tocks its minutes to
fall on the floor
The flowers wilt on to the outcomes
of fate
The postman retreats with a creak
of the gate
The curtains, half closed, host a
spider now bold
It calls to its death as it slips to
the voids, below,
M ~
Β
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Comments
I like this!!
JP
Thankyou John x
awesome ink Marion. a pleasure to read and leave a stamp of excellent
and very much appreciated Lisa x
when finished, I felt like I was suffocating .. exceptional ink our M x
And you are exceptionally kind...thankyou x
Marion This piece made me feel like I was stuck in drying dsuffocating concrete.As I wasΒ feeling that immobility I was seeing the events in a hyper surreal vision and heightened hearing.Β This was well done.Β You perfectly paced the words and the format to help create this intenseΒ reaction.
well done
Β
Thanks so much for your lovely comment Susan x
what a surely excellent poem, im caught, gratefully in your web
Thanks Mark...you are kind...not been on much lately...I must catch up soon...hugs x
Thank you so much Mark x
Brilliant!Β I saw the picture of this in my head. I heard the tick, tock, tick, tick. I felt the numbness to the world outside. This poem hangs heavy with grief. Your clever writing shows just how heavy grief is.
We don't always need scales to weigh things. Some of the heaviest things in life can only be weighed by a poem ...especially when that poem is written by a skilled poet ..as you are.
Hugs xx
Ah...you are so kind and I love kindnessπ€© thankyou lovely lady xx