by David R Spellman
The silence of remorse
is an almost edible thing
though sour on my lips,
and each bite chews
its own slippery tongue
swallowed without thought
never knowing which came first –
the hunger or the thirst for less,
leaving bitter truth unquenched;
long endured these stale breaths
with the stench of lies so old
so cold their rind to the touch
never so much as death still
awakened into a sullen womb
now gnawing for its birth.
Posted on 11/29/2006
Copyright © 2023 David R Spellman
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 11/29/06 at 11:57 PM|
Good use of style, man. You really have a way of giving a relentless feel to the thoughts. Nicely done.
|Posted by Quentin S Clingerman on 11/30/06 at 02:32 AM|
A powerful depiction of remorse from the "sour taste" to the "gnawing to give birth". POTD kind of poem!
|Posted by Gabrielle L Gervais on 01/18/07 at 04:25 AM|
I thought I would take a peek at what I missed during my hiatus... This one is very well done and really hits home. Thanks for sharing it.