Heartstrung
tragic history
whispery
magnets pull and push
full of will
and strength of irony
will not budge.
will not.
will bend and quaver
mend broken wefts
and savour time spent drifting
swept away but not
bereft
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1 comment:
I like that this poem feels like it was meant to be real aloud. I want you to put on a turtleneck, black beret and sunglasses so that you can read it while I play the drums.
Seriously, it does exactly what I think that poetry should do: play with the language and make it strange, while also reflecting something back to the reader about the experience of being human.
Well done.
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