The glacier unleashed above the surface, exposed to the elements, withered and melting, as ice teeth drip in sun dagger’s game
The fortress unmoved in storm, harbored deep into the rooted ground by intertwined redwoods eating away at the past through methodical digging
The opening beyond the passageway, circumventing the avenues of darkness, though blind, a serpent worm hollowing and sharpening the narrowness below
The salutation circled on parchment dry, driven in passion by black-tipped feather dancing its way across the pages of time
The window frame broken, cracked over with windy days turned blizzard, and painted false with robin-blue, layer upon layer, until chipped and exposed the ruined beginning bleeds
The casual handshake of palms fleshy and ripe, with sweat and history intermingled more than the strangers that touch
The blanket hung upon the clothes line, overlapped and moving in the breeze as ghost sheets whisper their jealousy, wanting the warmth to move through them, like champion fingering the goblet of victory
The breath of the sailboat, weeping for the coming of wind, where tossed and turned the sails shall bellow in defense, when all about the observer grins, thinking the movement enters sweet without cost
The misery belonging to one, the performer across dimmed stage, spinning in the absence of light, invisible to the onlookers, if audience ever entered
The broken, spread out for picnic, picked apart to bone, and left for the army of insects to devour the remnants of screams harbored in the feast of gluttony
The fear reaper, echoed shadows of past, silk and web interwoven to glisten and capture, to call forth and entice, until prisoner bewildered in entrapment pleads for escape
The moment, shaded eyes beseeched lost maiden and all searching tumbled outside of tethered pockets, pebbles touching down into river rapids, one after the other, exiting their chamber of ages
The stallion and steed, a chance glance past the soured fields and dank sky, remembering once together they moved free as drifters in hope’s lullaby
Until now, each as forgotten tune joins to create a symphony of sorrow, their music precise and purposeful, reaching into the severed opening of lost child, and soothing the reflection of their collective pain
~ Samantha Craft January 2013
8 thoughts on “297: Symphony of Sorrow”
This makes me feel kind of sad. It makes me feel a longing for things of the past. It makes me go to the place in my mind where I comfort myself with the thought that if we never had to sleep..it woud only be one day that we lived, one long day..and everything that happened in the past, is still happening.
There is a definite sadness to this… I felt sad when writng.. that is why I wrote out my sorrow, at least some of the element spinning inside of me. I love your description. The one long day….. I’ve been thinking about that since I read your words last night. Thanks. xo Sam
Words spar with each other, roll tumbling down the river of inexpressible being, finally resting in the pool of forgetfulness.
You are a poet and you know it! Great comment. Always interesting to see what another takes away from the words that come out of me. :0) Thanks very much. ~ Sam
Allegro of Woe. Fugue of Funk?
Goofy you! Pool of Strangled Love
Very moving, Sam. Your writing is brilliant, as always.
Need to catch up on responding to comments. Will do so soon and visit your blog too. Thanks for your ongoing kindness. 🙂