It’s good and solid,
built of fresh scented wood with tough brick—
all multicolored—warm to the touch like a glass of mulled wine.
He cries: “Michael’s house!” every time we enter.
But it’s nobody’s house.
No one lives there.
They come and go, a way-station for the severed.
I think of the hospital, cool and bright,
forced smiles, nurses waving bye-bye,
off to half-way houses, group homes.
Michael doesn’t want to live there.
His eyes beg me: “Let me heal!”
The doctor says no.
Do you feel the shivery wind
blowing through the empty house
like the silent breath of the bleeding Lord?
Written by Cruel Virgin
BARB
Bardouble29 (aka Barb) has always loved to write. Writing has proven to be a way to deal with the tough parts of life. Her poetry tends to be a little on the dark and sad side. She loves making words come alive. But she can be known to throw in poems of other venue.
13 comments:
This makes me want to find home...
This reminds me of places I've been.
This was written during a very dark time...
Wow. Imagery. Good.
I love this poem.
The feelings of hope and dispair intermingling, of recovery and of slipping away.
The last stanza says it all.
Beautifully written:)
This made me cry.. Maybe its because my Michael is so sick all of the time.. The mention of hospital and people waving just got to me..
You have got a good imagination madam. any tips for novice like me.
And thanks for giving me this link.
I will certainly add this in my blogroll
Thanks.
Beautiful...
A deep soul is like a finely woven net- cast out into the world...and it catches us. We are each astonished by the mesh that holds our hearts, if only for a moment.
Surprised by what we understand in her embrace...the pain we recognize, the ache we feel within- through anothers words.
Each of us caught up the web...in the deep soul of one called "Enemy of the Republic"- a beloved friend indeed.
i have no words ...
Thanks again.
Sandy, I don't know how to tell people how to write poetry. It channels through me and I go with it.
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