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Death Becomes Art

There, on a sill of contentious decisions Glass shards sit waiting a wavering hand Reflective the memories wrapped ‘round the curtains Lost in a pane that she can’t understand Chilled calls the breeze through a jagged eviction Scenting the air neath a ceiling now stained Dampening dreams behind oven doors gaping Finding the pilot light has not complained Ripping out pages of scribbled delusions Day becomes night in the depths of her mind Chasing the echoes when no one will answer Begging each shadow for something to find Setting a table of rounded persuasions Watching fluorescents fade fast in her eyes Turning the knob towards a sorrowed direction Why is there none who react to her cries Loneliness peels back the layered condition Voices of reason have fled to her past Fearing the worst will come visit tomorrow Sensing the hour shall now be her last So many days and the roses need pruning Nary a movement is noticed inside Caught in his thoughts that her words had intentions If only those moments ignored would confide Desperate ink found in fingertip writings Penned by the demons left roaming her head Still haunts the question of fear never listened Death becomes art in the stanzas unread

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Freddie Robinson Jr.

Date: 11/14/2016 6:20:00 PM

Just a simply great poem, Chris. Flat-out. On every level, it breathes greatness. Metaphorically superb. Thematically thought provoking. Verbal imagery illuminating. You are hereby granted poetic license to print cosmic consciousness money. Can be used anywhere in the Universe where there is sentient life. Live long and prosper, my friend. Much love to you.

John Lawless

Date: 11/10/2016 8:59:00 AM

The title ... and then that first line "gotcha" ..Chris this is one of those poems that I had to read several times....drawn back to its depth and sadness. I shall Fav this as it found that space of loneliness in my heart. Great write....

Chris Green
Date: 11/10/2016 9:40:00 AM

Thanks John, what a great review of my poem. I am thrilled you liked this one so much, enough to save it as a fav. I appreciate that my friend.

Keith O.J. Hunt

Date: 11/9/2016 5:52:00 PM

Superb write Chris, a sad but very enjoyable read, well written, deep, like it! Keith

Chris Green
Date: 11/10/2016 8:10:00 AM

Thanks so much Keith, I am thrilled you enjoyed this poem. It is loosely based on the depression and death of Sylvia Plath. I'm glad you liked this one.

Heidi Sands

Date: 11/9/2016 5:33:00 PM

Very deep with sadness, loneliness. Makes one hope the person comes out of despair.

Chris Green
Date: 11/10/2016 8:07:00 AM

Thanks so much Heidi. When I wrote this my intention wasn't for it to go the direction it did, but my pen had other ideas.

Charmaine Chircop

Date: 11/9/2016 5:24:00 PM

Oh poetry will always hear her cries..I believe...and that is why through desperate ink ..her figertip writings make their release....and pain is washed away...So very powerful and deep this poem...Indeed it is.

Chris Green
Date: 11/10/2016 8:06:00 AM

Thank you so very much my sweet friend. Yes, in most cases you are right, as poets we often pour our hearts out in our work hoping a special someone will see and comfort us. It doesn't always work out that way. But, I am happy you stopped by to read this one, it always makes me smile when you do.