Where They Break
Your face was a shell-less beach.
You fingers were sea oats, weeping tremble, bent in wind.
Your smiles were words written thin in low-tide sand.
Your tears were waves where they break
on high tide
rocks.
You fingers were sea oats, weeping tremble, bent in wind.
Your smiles were words written thin in low-tide sand.
Your tears were waves where they break
on high tide
rocks.
posted by Unknown at 4:17 PM
4 Comments:
I thought about adding one line to the end of this poem. For comedic effect.
"Depression's a bitch, ain't it you sad slut."
It's so damn harsh and insensitive and offensive and the end of such a tender and sad address, I can't help but laugh out loud when I see it.
carrot says: "Depression's a bitch, ain't it you sad slut." and
"I can't help but laugh out loud when I see it."
iskra says: Hm... Anger = funny?
Gosh, no. Like I said, it's the contrast of somewhat esoteric and cliche high-english rhetoric, tender and sensitive, juxtaposed with a gritty juvenile outburst that I find funny.
It's not how I feel, of course, nor would it ever fit the poem; just silly.
Oh good! I was worried there for a sec!
Post a Comment
<< Home