Tuesday, December 26, 2006

Saviour



It begins: her last day on earth
The morn she takes to heaven
A life withered to no worth
She contemplates yet again

Is this the end to her sorrow,
Can she leave the reeling world behind,
Is she sure of no brighter tomorrow,
Or has the hurt marred her blind?

This path she paved in recklessness
Striding on until the dead end
And anger for years repressed
In death to it will she tend

Her footprints mark the carpet
She knows she will die alone
The tear drops fall cold and wet
As fear chills her to the bone

Her thoughts swirl like fog and mist
She wonders if anyone would care
Will her quiet existence be missed,
Will just one lend her a prayer?

She faintly remembers what
Brought laughter from within
Her heart has long forgot
The whirlwind that joy brings

Her eyes search skies numerous times
For the presence of an Almighty Saviour
That heavenly ladder shall she climb
To question why He didn't save her

And him, the one she lived for
She wanted so much to stay
The boy whose touch she craved for
Seemed too strong to give away

But they have torn and tattered
He no longer shares her pain
Soft eyes reveal she is battered
She will be gone and he will be the same

Nor mother, nor father to fret
Nor the warmth of her kin
Consumed in loneliness like a blanket
Prepared to commit her final sin

Brick by brick, each one had crashed
Her silver spider web dreams
That cruel rain and wind had lashed
To leave a haunting requiem

She looks around the mess she made
Invisible sewage of a worn-out life
Reason and rationality have long strayed
One question: the noose or the knife?

Enchambered in her desolate thoughts
Her cowardice and fear drain
So years of living vainly fought
Now end in a whip of joyous pain

The blinds are closed as are her eyes
The blade of death at her throat
"Goodbye" her mind in relief sighs
In peace her soul will float

And a knock, just one, before it burst
There he stands before her in tears
The only one who quenched her thirst
The man who blew away her fears

Dear love, your time has passed
Too late for your apologies
She swipes across the vein at last
For her fragile life must softly flee

He is not weak, he holds her at once
She struggles to free his clasp
Gentle as a feather she becomes
As she crumbles in his warm grasp

Her blood like a scarlet river
She spills upon his saving arms
The past escapes in a shiver
His presence like a soothing balm

He swears to God he shall protect
This beautiful girl from pain
He prays to God this life so wrecked
He can build back up again

You can see her by the setting sun
The scars still etch her skin
And many more invisible ones
That pierced her from within

You can see her smile in wisdom
And grace the years have brought
Her smile, the fruit of her freedom
From a tiresome battle fought

3 comments:

Anonymous said...

Its good, but ur headings dont exactly match ur poems. MAybe u shulde work on those. And try n divide the poem into stanzas according to topic, specially when its so long. Easier on the eye. If ur interested in gettin em published or something, i know a guy on win live whose dad works in that business, i can ask him. Hes the guy who published my game long ago...... U shuld also submit this stuff to search engines n things.

THat is if ur interested..... is the one abt urmila miss in here?


~ L. Rkn

u kno who i am

Anonymous said...

i mean, she dies at the end rite? so how does he save her? and btw

"her holds her at once"

shuld be

" he holds her at once"

yeah, i read the whole thing. lol

~ L. Rkn

Imperfect said...

@l.rkn
well i put this heading because to me, the essence of the poem was that the guy came back to her, and despite everything she was ok. so he is her saviour

i dont wanna publish right now :) thanks though

well she doesnt die, one assumes he takes her to the hospital and the next scene is years later when she's sitting in the park...

Poetry

when language like bubbling streams flow




when words are laid down to fit like lovers' hands




when you feel the essence of the poet from within




when swirling thoughts are caught in the net of rhythm



when images reel as you read




when pen and paper create a symphony




then, it is poetry

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