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My playground of thin bones
Contributed by
In_a_While
on
Tuesday, 26th April 2005 @ 11:44:04 AM in AEST
Topic:
Nostalgic
|
take my time to rake the leaves
fake what's not, my thought disease
as i'm here, count dropping rain
countless tears of river stain
see the clouds remember sleep
blue sky walls paint peeling cheap
pick at scabs and share the scar
what you are, seen from afar
in my playground i've not found
all the whispers empty sound
pass the ball then bounce away
chase the day in fields of play
i'm so tired, games of old
my future fired, names of cold
i'm the puppet of my own destruction
a wooden boy of poor consruction...
Copyright ©
In_a_While
... [
2005-04-26 11:44:04]
(Date/Time posted on
site)
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Re: My playground of thin bones
(User Rating: 1 )
by EverlastingDawn on
Tuesday, 26th April 2005 @ 11:51:06 AM AEST
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| Great poem. So sad but beautiful in itself. I can relate to the pain, I myself look back at my childhood. You captured the essence of that feeling within this poem. Congratz. Nice Write. |
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Re: My playground of thin bones
(User Rating: 1 )
by weepingprophet on
Friday, 7th October 2005 @ 05:07:24 PM AEST
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this is vivid and i feel you travelling through it. Memory and then the embrace of the moment as though you're locked in it and kept. I enjoyed reading through the the metamorphasis of you. I would have to say that my favorite line is your line of eternal recognition when you state " I'm the puppet of my own destruction, (here is my fav. line), a wooden boy of poor construction."
That is beautiful, I am so very curious to continue reading your work and I hope to see you finding that poor construction is an obstacle and not an eternal condemnation. We are made to overcome.
~weepingprophet |
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