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Array ( [sid] => 118020 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => What We Become [time] => 2006-04-09 15:25:01 [hometext] => Most marriages end in divorce. Even in historical marriages, the spouses were not true to each other. What ever happened to true love, or was there ever such a thing? [bodytext] => The skin around her eyes swells
like the atmosphere, purple and pregnant with rain.
And her lids become damp, half drawn shades.
His eyes are vacant, distant dying stars,
no-body's won this fight.
On a corner table in a small tray,
two cigarettes have burnt down to ash,
long forgotten;

like somewhere in the universe, two lives
falling apart, shedding themselves, layer by layer,
wasting away to dust, the dust of all they once were.
She sits in the yard in her terrycloth robe
as the moon falls to rest at her feet.
Inhaling and exhaling, dove soap and vanilla musk,
hair wavering silver streaks.
A summer evening and the frail branches of a tree
stretch out against the sky, like splintering glass.
She closes her eyes and waits for the crash.
The sun has departed and so has he.

Somewhere in the universe, she no longer cares.
They're the parting clouds among endless skies.
Instead she commits to inertia, like an hourglass,
waiting for the day she spills to the ground,
hoping she'll take to the heavens again.
From past journals she tears out old entries of love,
leaving behind the ghosts of words.
He’s out looking for youth, looking for life and she knows
that if we live too much we’ll sooner explode.

And the particles of stars, they can be anything at all.
Only we don’t get to choose.
[comments] => 3 [counter] => 156 [topic] => 21 [informant] => dayslong [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => Lifepoems )

What We Become

Contributed by dayslong on Sunday, 9th April 2006 @ 03:25:01 PM in AEST
Topic: Lifepoems

The skin around her eyes swells
like the atmosphere, purple and pregnant with rain.
And her lids become damp, half drawn shades.
His eyes are vacant, distant dying stars,
no-body's won this fight.
On a corner table in a small tray,
two cigarettes have burnt down to ash,
long forgotten;

like somewhere in the universe, two lives
falling apart, shedding themselves, layer by layer,
wasting away to dust, the dust of all they once were.
She sits in the yard in her terrycloth robe
as the moon falls to rest at her feet.
Inhaling and exhaling, dove soap and vanilla musk,
hair wavering silver streaks.
A summer evening and the frail branches of a tree
stretch out against the sky, like splintering glass.
She closes her eyes and waits for the crash.
The sun has departed and so has he.

Somewhere in the universe, she no longer cares.
They're the parting clouds among endless skies.
Instead she commits to inertia, like an hourglass,
waiting for the day she spills to the ground,
hoping she'll take to the heavens again.
From past journals she tears out old entries of love,
leaving behind the ghosts of words.
He’s out looking for youth, looking for life and she knows
that if we live too much we’ll sooner explode.

And the particles of stars, they can be anything at all.
Only we don’t get to choose.

Copyright Â© dayslong ... [ 2006-04-09 15:25:01]
(Date/Time posted on site)

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Re: What We Become (User Rating: 1 )
by Former_Member on Sunday, 9th April 2006 @ 05:38:45 PM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

A most beautiful poem and sadly, not far of the mark. Splendid peice of writting along with it's obeservation.

Ben

Re: What We Become (User Rating: 1 )
by shelby on Sunday, 9th April 2006 @ 09:42:31 PM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

incredible, nicely done.
Michelle

Re: What We Become (User Rating: 1 )
by candyistoo-sweet on Monday, 10th April 2006 @ 02:55:01 AM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

i love how you use the physical description of objects to counter-part real emotion. its not easy to do that. thanks for the comment on my poem i love constuctive criticism it builds character and art.

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