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Breaking

by Clara Mae Gregory

in the spirit of love

i waded in the pools

both shallow and deep

i floated on the seas

where lustful transgressions drown

i have walked on the shores

inside all the love poems

where only fantasies

can entwine

the monograms

carved on a tree

for forbidden lovers

hidden in reality

i have languished from the secrets

poured into lakes of silence

where the whispers freeze

into smooth gray slate

turning my spirit

into pellets of sleet

that ripples the glass

breaking

the serenity

12/15/2010

Author's Note: repost...

Posted on 12/16/2010
Copyright © 2020 Clara Mae Gregory

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by George Hoerner on 12/16/10 at 01:12 PM

And an excellent repost this is. Very nicely done lady!

Posted by Glenn Currier on 12/16/10 at 03:10 PM

This is one of those poems that makes me grateful for the poet's willingness to be open with the inner reality. Much (perhaps all) of what we write reveals something about our Selves. Uh... maybe I should switch to the 1st person... I think writing poetry and posting it or publishing it is like undressing in public. Well, I guess - like undressing - it can be done to degrees. Sometimes we pull off a sock or two, sometimes a shirt, etc. Anyway - so much to like about your poem: lustful trangressing drowning, secrets poured into lakes, whispers freezing. I like the way you pair the human behaviors with the images. Artful. Spiritual. Thanks for the poetic boost this morning. I needed it. Blessings and peace to you, Mel.

Posted by Joe Cramer on 12/16/10 at 03:55 PM

... excellent.....

Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 01/01/11 at 03:10 PM

Thought provoking spiritual poem CM. Nice touch the monograms in trees. Lost and/or unrequited love pulling on my own heart strings.

Posted by JD Clay on 01/10/11 at 04:50 AM

This is an amazing introspection, Clara Mae. I like your way with words.

Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 04/08/12 at 01:14 PM

Melanie. this poem flows fascinatingly top to bottom and I am much impressed with the line, where the whispers freeze into cool gray slate.

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