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The Center's Footsteps

Thoust message rings, But it is a wretched beauty. Sew up thine tongue; It forks in many directions, Ensnaring, passing through the centers, Weaving a thread gleaming, deceivingly white, Yet drenched in the black goo, The sticky gobs of our source, our blood. Cast aside thine needle, Let time make it blunt. Wallow in thine sorrow, But only for a moment. Up, up with you! The sticky gobs cannot protect thee. See me, Hear me. For I see thee... Thou hast split thine tongue To hide, to forget. Thine forked words, black to all, clear to me. Go on, go ahead, Walk through its enveloping black. And when you cannot run, Crawl. And when you can’t do that anymore, Find someone to carry you. Thou art strong! Let thine center give you new feet! Yet, If even thine center falls weary, I shalt be thine legs. I shalt carry you, my friend.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2013

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Date: 1/29/2013 10:59:00 PM
Hi Lauren, it’s a wonderful feeling to click on a poem and find such a refreshing write. Friendship is certainly a gift worth treasuring, to be there when all else seems to fail - commendable. Well penned. I’m certainly looking forward to read more of your work. Vicky.
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Date: 1/29/2013 10:45:00 AM
Hey this is good I really I like this poem. Can you check my poem out, let me know how you like it.
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