|
Balm
by Lacy D PhillipsI lay flat and inhale the autumn,
laying away stores of sun-warmed hours
for the long months of short days.
I am waiting for the hurt to decay,
for the vagueries of anger to decompose
as if the byproduct of healing
(which I suppose to be hope)
could somehow be burnt
to fuel my triumph over suffering
or as an offering...
Time has a mind all its own in this season.
Whole afternoons drift and flare out
like dust motes in a shaft of light.
Lunch hours devoured.
I am waiting for my life to flare
or for the dispersal of despair.
09/27/2006 Posted on 09/27/2006
Copyright © 2024 Lacy D Phillips
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Angela Nuzzo on 09/28/06 at 06:53 AM Beautiful, Lacy. The metaphoric use of the seasonal details is great. I think everyone (especially living up north) would love to be able to "store away" sun-warmed hours for the winter. |
| Posted by Bethany Lee on 09/29/06 at 12:58 AM my oh my, how i miss the autumnal air. I moved to Florida recently and without the seasons, I feel my creative patterns are off. Fall was always my most productive writing time...*sigh* We are wherever we find ourselves...in front of whatever mona lisa... |
| Posted by Charlie Morgan on 09/30/06 at 03:42 AM ...lacy, well said, we all [in some fashion or another] are awaiting the Balm or salve, or caress or warm eye-to-eye giggle, a moist palm of another could be the balm, eh?...great poetics, moves along nicely...peace, chaz |
|
