The fragile rain bleeds
from the storm of my heart
I don’t see the sky when it’s captured
inside the window frame of your heart
The jingle jangle, in your pocket startles me
from the house key, you bought me
We’re merely strangers,
when the eyes from the above
has marked my forehead with a star
There’s no room in this house when all I see is empty promises of our wicked ways
hidden in the sinless moments
I’m earthbound immersed from
the sorrow and the hunger
And the anger when you blame me
Yes, you don’t own me.
We play roles
I’m no saint
I need to belong
Yes, I’m wretched.
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Comments7
This is enigmatic but offers some memorable images and reeks of mature honesty. It flows so smoothly and a little fearfully.
Thank you for your comments. Great observation about the fearful flow at times-I’m working on it:)
We play roles
I’m no saint
Those announcements declare a closeness rarely achieved not that there isn’t freedom it’s that we restrict it and it’s really hard to define why this situation this freedom lives but not that? Our own sense of freedom when it surrounds is a welcome beast though the strife lurks.
So true, dear poet friend, the ambivalence of freedom-“our own sense of freedom when it surrounds us a welcome beast though the strife lurks.”
How far do you live from Chicago ?
Never been, some day I hope…
I first wanted to see where you are coming from .. I'm delighted and clearly made the write decision .. write on my fine new literary friend .. Neville
Thank you. I’m looking forward to the literary exchange.
Seeing inside (let alone, acknowledging it) is a difficult art form, and, I have to say, the inside has everything to do with suffering. Great poem. I look forward to discovering more.
Thank you for your kind attention and great insight!
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