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Drowning Angels
by Max BouilletThe echoes of
unspoken words
are prayers
to drowned angels
caught in the fishing nets
of blind men.
They pull in their catch
and dine on angelic flesh
only to sprout wings,
take flight,
lose their boat,
and fall into the sea.
Ill at ease with stolen wings
they rip them from their backs
renounce their claim on divinity
and die as men
that know the comfort
of regret.
08/01/2006 Posted on 08/02/2006
Copyright © 2024 Max Bouillet
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Maria Terezia Ferencz on 08/02/06 at 04:42 AM Die as men who know the comfort of regret....
WOW the whole piece is incredible, but I ABSOLUTELY ADORE that one line. BRAVO |
| Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 08/02/06 at 01:46 PM Excellent symbolism here. Really a fine piece. |
| Posted by Delilah Coyne on 08/02/06 at 02:36 PM Haunting and surreal. The images in this piece stay with the reader long after the reading. Amazing job. |
| Posted by Alex Smyth on 08/02/06 at 02:48 PM You see the world with eyes that know too much for your own soul. Bless you for your burden of knowing. And bless you for the gift of sharing. |
| Posted by Charles M Harrison on 08/03/06 at 02:04 AM WOW! |
| Posted by Melissa Arel on 08/03/06 at 03:28 PM WOW. This poem just bursts with spectacular imagery. Awesome. |
| Posted by Michelle Angelini on 08/05/06 at 02:53 AM Max, this poem has a haunting bittersweetness that almost brings tears to my eyes. It is the sadness of life mixed with the immortality of angels. Beautiful.
~Chelle~ |
| Posted by Mara Meade on 08/06/06 at 06:41 PM Max, your words and visuals always astound me in their clarity. I've missed these insights and am so glad to see you back. |
| Posted by Kathleen Wilson on 12/16/06 at 10:40 PM My mind just wants to sit with these images, beyond interpretation. I do not wish to make equations, they'll come in flashes, but the sense of all of them, and of human regret as a comfort--yes, it is the way of man--the ephemeral shivers. I have them from this poem. I have a catalog in my mind of unspoken words and untaken photos. These have their echoes, as you say and unforseen, mysterious overtones in what we do and conceive. Wonderful. |
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