Discussion in 'Poet's Corner' started by Rose24, Feb 18, 2008.

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  1. Rose24

    Rose24 Chat & Forum Buddy

    A thousand cuts at my throat
    Carry me down the red sea,
    Gentle waves upon which she floats:
    Staring into my eyes - white and glaring,
    Vacant crescents glowing in the night,
    Still. Deep, possessed but staring,
    But my brave child does not cry,
    Curls up against her mothers warmth
    Presses her head against her thigh,
    “what a game, my mother is playing,
    what a red, in which she’s laying!”
    Playing games are a mothers duty,
    Splashing her feet: a thousand jewels
    Baby in awe of crimson rubies,
    Child asks to quench her thirst -
    To sing her the sweetest of lullabies,
    Mothers teats are warm at first:
    Presses her lips against her nipples,
    Taking her offer of body and wine,
    Smacking her checks in crimson ripples,
    Falls asleep by mothers side.


    Too afraid to be happy
    Too afraid to try
    Unwilling to live
    Yet unwilling to die
    My suicide? Really? I ask.
    Why, dieing is such a difficult task!
  2. I loved that first one (though it made me feel somewhat 'voyeuristic', taking in something that is so intimate) - it's SO well written (as much as it is disturbing/disconcerting) - the imagery, as well as the rhyme is superb! Yet it's so...uncontrived if you know what I mean.

    btw - welcome Rose...
  3. Rose24

    Rose24 Chat & Forum Buddy

    Thank you for your welcome FoundAndLost1, nice to meet you.
  4. Rose24

    Rose24 Chat & Forum Buddy

    need to make another post to move away from the unlucky number.
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