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Articulating the Unspeakable
by Laura DoomMorning--what more is there to say?
Shall I commend thee to a wizened sun,
a gilded dawn, a sallow parody?
I could tell you how it makes me feel,
but then it would consume itself
and everyone besotted with its promise
in a post-apocalyptic orgasm
dripping nihilistic depravity.
Before night freezes over,
let's cry ourselves to sleep
and wake desensitized
if not yet ready
to be cleansed.
01/03/2016 Posted on 01/03/2016
Copyright © 2024 Laura Doom
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 01/04/16 at 01:58 AM Hmmm...mysterious in one sense, but powerful in its ability to lead the reader's imagination into its depths. |
| Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 01/05/16 at 01:12 AM To describe without describing - a clever, clever technique. Fascinating last stanza. |
| Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 01/06/16 at 11:34 AM if morning were not a blank canvas, we the curious would simply leave it be, but given morning permits us have at it, carte blanche, we will make more of it or less like ourselves. in the final analysis, a cry myself to sleeper like myself would rather he be commended to a wizened sun than gotten to a nunnery. |
| Posted by Anita Mac on 01/27/16 at 06:34 PM Quite the timeline, and it feels very much like a January day to me. I am besotted as ever by your turns of phrase. |
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