The Sweet Faced Ones with Nothing Left Inside

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Below is the poem entitled The Sweet Faced Ones with Nothing Left Inside which was written by poet Phillip Garcia. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.

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The Sweet Faced Ones with Nothing Left Inside

My path beyond the shores of time
from life to there are maritime ripples.
Harrowing blades of rain
hammered from storm-clouds shatter puddles
of glass to rolling streams of echoes,
Misery’s trail towards cleansing waters:

A bloody throat gasping for water 
is my alarm clock each day, it hurts all the time.
I drink and gurgle, but none of it matters, echoes
butcher my esophagus with hack-saw ripples
as knees tumble to drown in rusty puddles;
My lungs are a prison withered by the warden’s reign.

This morning I woke to the 13th straight day of rain
in Houston.  From my condo overlooking the water 
Clear Lake slept like a sidewalk puddle.
In July, humidity is a visceral sweater, sweltered by time
stitched in ‘X’s and needle-strung ripples
suffocating ragdolls in sweat-stained  echoes.

I took my coffee on the balcony.  Through iron-rods came an echo
redolent the voice of an angel; “Why’s it gotta rain
all the time, daddy?” she asked in wavy curls and golden ripples.
More clever then, I quickly responded, “Because god has to water 
his plants, Ava, that’s why it rains all the time.”
It used to be I smiled as she twirled through puddles.

The morning sky darkened as shadowy thorns continued to puddle.
Nearby lightning cracks hid from thundery echoes.
With each explosion my locomotive doubled its time;
Faster and faster screaming and taunting the rain,
inebriated veins screeching “Ice-water!” -
…and then a stillness overtook me.  The warden sighed a calm ripple;

From a dream my eyes bathed in tranquil ripples
of shimmering obsidian disguised as puddles.
Behind me were footsteps painted with water.
A song  I knew from Radiohead was echoing
a muffled chorus through sliding glass doors; “broken hearts make it rain,
broken hearts make it rain” and I remembered a happier time.

Then ripples staggered down my spine.   Tingling echoes
were  empty puddles violated by rain in my fingers and toes.
I again looked down at the water and thought, “Better get movin’, it’s breakfast time.”

8/11/2016
2nd Place in contest "Rain" judged 9/10/16

Copyright © | Year Posted 2016

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  1. Date: 8/15/2016 7:12:00 PM
    Really well done Phillip, congrats on your fine win!

    Garcia Avatar Phillip Garcia
    Date: 8/15/2016 8:33:00 PM Block poet from commenting on your poetry


    Thank you John!
  1. Date: 8/15/2016 5:47:00 PM
    Congratulations on your win, Philip, thank you for entering my contest ! Hug Eve

  1. Date: 8/15/2016 4:58:00 PM
    Phillip, this is beautifully penned dear friend! You hold a true gift in your hand...congrats on your placement in the Rain contest :)-luloo

    Garcia Avatar Phillip Garcia
    Date: 8/15/2016 5:01:00 PM Block poet from commenting on your poetry


    Thank you, Laura. I think I finished in the upper 65% - whatever the math of 20 or so /35 equals. :)
  1. Date: 8/11/2016 10:05:00 PM
    This is so fascinating and intricate in its imagery and description, Phillip. Great poetic write!

    Garcia Avatar Phillip Garcia
    Date: 8/11/2016 10:09:00 PM Block poet from commenting on your poetry


    Your words are very much appreciated. Thank you!