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A reflective string of words
by Madeline LambA few long minutes ago, a lover said to me:
"yours is the glory of the kingdom of Heaven!"
But I, the scribbled and hastily-drawn lamb,
was sketched into life sleeping on a bag of wine.
He was mad, he was a madman.
His (or maybe my) eyes stared back angrily
from a red solo cup of peach vodka.
His divine red. I laughed.
He spoke to me again,
a final warning "huuuuuu"
as I left my face traced in a mirror in studio 3w2.
During red metro magic hours
(more red, my favorite)
he sat beside me and stole bites of my fruit.
He was desolate,
demanding to know why I was ignoring him.
That night, we locked eyes as I took the hand of a stranger.
He finally turned his back and left.
The weight behind my eyes vanished,
my frontal lobe became an endless floating field of grey.
I looked for him a few times,
but he never came back.
So it went:
The faith and Christ I had cherished
were gone forever.
And in studio 3w2, Dionysus threw his arm
around my swiftly decreasing shoulder
and said "you've come to the right place, kiddo." 05/03/2010 Author's Note: In about two weeks the events described herein will be a year old. Happy birthday?
Posted on 05/26/2010
Copyright © 2025 Madeline Lamb
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by A. Paige White on 05/26/10 at 04:19 AM This is very well done. Straight down to the author's note. All I can really say (and something I know to be true) is drunks, who aren't drinking today, have more fun and we get together pretty regular in most cities and do a lot of laughing at stuff that would appall most folks...anywho... Personally, I used to have a great fondness for vanilla rum... whaler's in particular. |
| Posted by Joan Serratelli on 05/27/10 at 04:50 PM This piece is great. I love your use of words. |
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