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?

5 comments:

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

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  2. Very powerful and moving, absolutely beautiful :)

    And thank you for stopping by my blog today.

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  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.

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  4. Excellent imagery. So forlorn ...

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