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the walk
by Elizabeth Jill
she
took
a
walk
for
sanity
and met
her bridgeless river
undressed
her self
of everything
and dove
into its shiver
alone
and
deeper sunk
gave in,
as sin
gives up
its quiver
she died
they say
but I know else
she's left
to meet
her
Giver.
__________
12/08/2005 Posted on 12/08/2005
Copyright © 2025 Elizabeth Jill
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Mara Meade on 12/08/05 at 10:24 PM Brutal and breathtaking in such... May your Rose find her peace, finally and forever. |
| Posted by Michelle Angelini on 12/09/05 at 03:50 AM Jill, sometimes the line between beauty and tragedy is thin or blurred. You have created a memorial for someone you loved and regardless of the circumstances of her leaving, you knew she loved you or you would not have been able to write something like this. In writing this, you've crushed the wine glass beneath your feet.
~Chelle~ |
| Posted by Kyle Anne Kish on 12/09/05 at 06:57 PM Jill, such tremendous emotion in this poem ... even though it's written in very 'matter-of-fact' terms. Your ending word, 'Giver' puts a finishing touch on devastation ... knowing it's truly not finished for those who live on. Excellent piece, sweetie. |
| Posted by Kimberly Rhode on 12/10/05 at 04:12 AM that was perfect, thank you for writing it. |
| Posted by Laura Doom on 12/10/05 at 09:14 PM I have to admit I was taken by her 'walk for sanity' - the raw detachment in style and expression leaves an impression that this represents a conclusion to a complex and substantial 'story'. I note the 'line' drawn beneath this...poetry to be immersed in... |
| Posted by Charlie Morgan on 12/14/05 at 06:09 PM ...elizabeth, this is soooo gorgeous, with so few words you say a mouthful of what-life[including the last stage:death]-is-all-about...i love the complex simplicity...beautiful tribute to your mom, she's smiling down at you...peace, chaz |
| Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 12/19/05 at 04:17 AM This is a powerful piece. The poetry is stunningly simple, tight, and paints a gripping picture. |
| Posted by Kathleen Wilson on 01/03/06 at 07:23 PM Elizabeth, I read this poem by chance a couple of week ago. I was very moved by it, but did not leave a comment. Then, it was so memorable, that his morning I searched, and found it again! It is so amazingly formed, its shape is almost a human figure, a bird's wing, a bridge, a walk, an arrow.
Life is so fragile, the mind so fragile, and yet poetry endures in memory so strongly, and you have here made life out of death, and delicate, vivid presence out of disappearance. |
| Posted by Holly H Dunne on 01/15/06 at 06:53 PM hauntingly beautiful piece. x |
| Posted by Joan Serratelli on 03/29/06 at 04:56 PM Powerful stuff- "she's left to meet her giver" I can only hope that Rose has found peace. Beautiful , sad and haunting. |
| Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 03/30/06 at 04:00 PM Wow! This could easily read as an epitaph for Virginia Wolf, although she kept her clothes on, and put rocks in her pockets to help sink. Thanks also for your comment on my latest. |
| Posted by Ashok Sharda on 04/01/06 at 02:35 AM Yes, 'the walk' to an unknown destination when the known fails to lead you any where, when the process of life turns into death, this walk into unknown appears better than continuing with this process, stagnant. The most unfortunate part is that these decisions are hardly logical. They are emotional and well, emotions doesn't have the ability to apply logic. |
| Posted by Rula Shin on 04/07/06 at 02:50 PM Poingnant in its expression of surrender to "her Giver" - you create an aura of softness and 'sanity' to a scene that would otherwise be deemed "insane" though it seeks to shed the brutal desperation of emptiness and pain. But as Ashok said, it is the walk into the unknown when the known seems to lead you nowhere...a permanent solution to a temporary state of emotional bondage wherein one has been hopelessly blinded by the belief that meaning is a given and not sought. I must say you write with a rhythm so soft and delicate, and with such poetic subtlety one doesn't feel as though she is offering her final petal to the river, but as if ROSE is transitioning through to a permanent transcendental bloom. You captured the fragility of the human condition, and chose to paint it with a light of faith in hope. As Kathleen said, your heart transformed death into life with one compassionate brushtroke. That's what I saw. Very nicely written. |
| Posted by Michael Faraday on 01/26/07 at 02:45 AM succinctly said. enjoyed. cheers, m |
| Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 09/25/09 at 11:36 AM In reading this I sense a life, a need going counter current to odes, and their need to say, their need to put clothes on, counter ours which is the opposite, to unburden ourselves of clothes thus of words and to clothe ourselves in the hush of rivers and their shiver to deliver us unto truth and thus ourselves. |
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