Tuesday, 15 June 2010

Old Wounds

All i can hear
Is myself breathing
Every breath like splinters being hammered
In an old creaking floor board
Old wounds
My eyes prickle
I won't give up
Not yet I came so far
The mattress ingulfs me
Into its frail body
I hold the picture frame tighter
In my hand
Not willing to let go
Its been years. Still
A crack is visible on the frame
I carres it with a single finger
Blood trickles out screaming
I suck on it
Tasting bitter metal
I turn my face
Towards the dust clouded window
A beam of light escapes
Is there still hope?


  1. Your poems are fantastic. you are certainly one of the best amateur poet on blogspot.

  2. Very powerful and moving, absolutely beautiful :)

    And thank you for stopping by my blog today.

  3. You are a free-spirited soul. I sense a lot of courage and strength in you for you carry your scars with pride. Yes, there is still hope.

  4. Excellent imagery. So forlorn ...