Reprimand

Lungs filled with molten lead, not air,

Cheeks burn unsoothed by evening’s breeze,

The ghost of times forgot now tare

Down twilights — felled indigo seas.

Such burnished dreams in chase to meet

From men to beasts your weary steps retreat.

 

No mountain path before you springs

As moonlit caverns drown your voice,

Meaning occluding. And me thinks

You’ve lost the power to rejoice. 

Questions are all yours. Answers — they

Have splintered on the edge of life’s decay.

 

Dawn hides beneath your mournful eyes

A play of shadows tense entwine

And turn all pleasures into vice.

Where is repentance? Where the line?

Another’s blood varnished your hands,

Now their broken fate a price demands.

 

In leaving you abandoned hope

That without judgement yours will be

A life with promise new and scope

Unbidden by all else to see.

Never for you will fortune smile.

The guilt is yours and here to stay a while.

 

From each and all you may have fled.

Like they, you too are broken-hearted

And carry in your wake the dead —

All dreams of better times departed.

Then seek respite in misery

And pray that penitence will set you free.

 

This one mistake is yours forever.

Another’s end ’round your neck hangs

To cut away the poisoned tether

Atonement only has the fangs.

Lost in your search, condemned by fate

To have forgiveness only when too late. 

*

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/11/25/daily-prompt-close/

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19 thoughts on “Reprimand

  1. Pingback: Welcome to my world… In/verse | vic briggs

      • I don’t know if it is the same for other writers, but I always find that the only way I can get to the bottom of something is by writing about it. A well opens up, and I reach deeper than I thought possible, as if my fingers have a mind of their own – secrets that can only be revealed through the process of writing.

      • That’s how it is with me also. If I do not get it out by writing, I cannot sleep. And then when I start writing, it’s like you said “reaching deeper than thought possible.” Almost like undiscovered veins of underground tunnels in the mind. What’s weird is that when I’m not writing, I can’t think of words, or when I do, my talking is so fast people can’t keep up. Therefore, for me, the most effective expression is the keyboard or pen.

      • I do think in words as well as images, but there is no linear sequence to them – it is almost like an infinite worlds of possibility colliding simultaneously. Some have clarity, others are somehow out of focus, almost indistinguishable and yet still there.
        The pen has a way of finding order where there was none before. We are certainly on the same page in that respect.

  2. Pingback: Close call… | Life as a country bumpkin...not a city girl

  3. Pingback: By God’s Grace and Mercy | A Short A Day

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