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all the world its players
by Leah Laibenreading aloud
from a poorly written script
quivering
delivering
the best of what i had at the time.
whispers:
sweet and salty
about, to, and from...
but i have sealed my lips.
let's call it a day-
put our feelings away
on that shelf
called time.
there will always be tomorrow,
don't you worry.
but now we find tomorrow dead on the floor
and
deaf ears
never
never
never
hurt quite as much as
a mute tongue.
08/08/2009 Posted on 08/08/2009
Copyright © 2024 Leah Laiben
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Jo Halliday on 08/08/09 at 02:23 PM Simply extraordinary: the structure, the way you have played with language here, the difficult subject matter itself! Hats off! |
| Posted by Elizabeth Jill on 08/08/09 at 03:03 PM indeed
brilliant writing |
| Posted by Ashok Sharda on 08/08/09 at 03:47 PM Tomorrow is as dead as yesterday, being its projection. But all the effects turn into causes for yet another effect. We all tend to live our yesterdays every day.Nice. |
| Posted by Kim Thevenot on 03/10/10 at 05:02 AM love the last line, it is harder not to say than not to hear. |
| Posted by Amie Golda on 03/10/10 at 02:34 PM This was brilliant. "that shelf called time" such great imagery and metaphors. Well done! A well deserved POTD. |
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