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Heather Two
by Timothy SomersShe formed my anger out of
rope,
a sheet,
a wire,
I never want to know
the tools that gravity whipped
her head to death with,
alone,
untended.
We all pretended
that reality was far too
long a stretch to grasp,
this Easter last,
as if to pull her close to us
that holy day
was quite enough
to make her heal the wounds
we never saw.
Climb the chair,
slip the noose.
A courage greater than
the guts to face another day
propelled
the jerking,
twisting,
wrenching,
screamless
fall
from
grace
in countless eyes
of gods unknown,
unseen projections of
our fears and sacrifice.
Blue,
blue,
gnarled
and
swelled
remain of nightmared
heavy strife.
I care not to see,
nor be in stark reality
as she,
adorned with
Lilly white. 04/04/1997 Posted on 06/24/2007
Copyright © 2025 Timothy Somers
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Jeffrey Parren on 06/24/07 at 06:57 PM This is incredible. I suppose these are the concretes I was missing for the first installment. S2 is quite strong, found myself in a rhythm with the words and the flow was great. An intense message protrayed with feelings and thoughts from both sides of the issue. Great write! ~JPP |
| Posted by Charlie Morgan on 10/27/07 at 11:13 PM ...tim, this does answer ol' jeff's question, eh? a gut-wrenching series of final-moments and like you in the pome i wouldn't want to be there either...yet, still, and, plus, sooo many other-world reasons do move to the next minute, etc...and we are all in a swirl and you stopped it with this existentially-hurting snapshot o' life, ahem death...serious write as was heather[original]...more scenery in this one to chew...peace, chaz |
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