inspiration

Inspiration: the past

Here’s a poem that might offend some of my family that reads this blog but I really don’t care. I wrote this today at a good friend’s house. Here ya go!

Divorce

I waited through warm summer rain
and the music of crickets nestling
in the marsh out back,
yet her eyes remained sunken gray stones
in a stagnant pool of water,
tears filling but never falling.
She grew smaller and grayer,
like the once-fulfilled life of a firework,
for a moment suspended in the peak
of what it’s supposed to be,
and all I could do is watch it darken
and die.
I was a bystander.
I was a bad Samaritan, eyes locked on a fatal
crash, immobilized in awe,
because that was the work of god.
That summer was a repetition of bad advice, like
“time heals all wounds,” but I kept picking at my scabs
and I watched them bleed, hoping they might disappear.
I poured a little whiskey on them, all the while thinking
maybe it will never feel this bad again.

Advertisements

What do you think?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s