Choreograph an Epitaph to Orchestrate a Death Sentence
by Steven Dibernardo
No one knows my circle game
Better than what shows when I open my eyes;
Only then you see, what seemed like a threat
Is a gift in disguise;
An opened book signing
Holds pressed flowers inside
Between pages fifty-two and ninety-five,
Because the numbers between those pages go empty.
Except for the lifeless flowers;
These dry, lifeless flowers of my words
Waiting for you to turn their pages
And become those missing years.
Only then you see what seemed like threats
Are merely the ties that bind this book,
The threads of my words, bound so tightly,
Perhaps they cut off their own circulation.
©1995 Mirror in the Bathroom Project
Posted on 05/10/2012
Copyright © 2017 Steven Dibernardo
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Kris Mara on 05/11/12 at 11:22 PM|
There's a great progression in this...I love how you've tied everything in with the flowers...and the words. You say so much, so eloquently, so efficiently - it's easy to relate to. I hope I'm making sense tonight...
I don't get time to read here often, so am glad to have had the chance to stop in and read this.
|Posted by Joe Cramer on 05/14/12 at 05:52 PM|
... excellent... welcome to Pathetic.....
|Posted by Jody Pratt on 09/25/12 at 12:41 AM|
Hell, the title alone is poetry.
|Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 04/22/15 at 02:33 PM|
I like the offbeat feeling here.