literature

it was always the same.

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Shattered-Horizon's avatar
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Literature Text




There was a hesitation in his heart -
A ghost and photograph trapped within the confines
  Of flesh and throat which wrought miserably upon

Distraught vocal chords.

Each gaping breath fled from his body, producing various shades of  white.

It would submerge eventually, imprisoning the vessels of life with chills.

" I admit …" he begun, laughing nervously as he dragged himself and tip-toed carefully.

Purple laced skin filthy with spots of white and yellow.

"There's nothing quite like it."

It wasn't the first time he had experienced such pleasurable effects - producing the
   Safe haven of a black and white world fleeting in colorful places.

He had often spoken of a visitor who entranced him during the hours of night,
  Snatching the remaining fragments of bone and memories and slithering off with them.

She was not a gracious guest, never once performing proper etiquette as she consumed his nectar.
(Quite a mess indeed, often splattered across floor and roof such as a canvas)

Today she confronted the castle and took dominion, laying siege and claiming steps.

There was not much,
           Hardly anything had survived from the previous encounters.

"You're late." he exclaimed, momentarily stumbling down the stairs and greeting her.

Tick.

     Night had approached quicker than expected, and the colors once more whirled completely
   Around him until the was entranced.

He could no longer find the beating in his chest, and his world had broken down.

A heart of stone,
          
       The hands of ice,
          
                 Body of ivy,
         
                      Thorns amiss.

Her kiss cured him, and he was never quite the same.
he never did like her absence.
© 2012 - 2024 Shattered-Horizon
Comments8
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atomicqueen's avatar
*_* You only ever get better as time goes by.

I really love your use of enjambment, particularly near the start, and the references towards colour are neatly outlined by the rest of your language. Beginning with a ghost, and varying shades of white, continuing with fragments of bone and hands of ice. That's contrasted with the more vivid splashes of colour--such as a canvas reiterates that visual experience. All of this, especially Purple laced skin filthy with spots of white and yellow and the phrase as she consumed his nectar makes me begin to link it all towards a garden of exotic plants, some in various phases of sickness, being pollinated by an insect.

It's an intriguing connection I find myself making, since you don't make any direct links. The poem feels very open to being interpreted in various ways but it doesn't feel like it's compromising on meaning. It manages to be purposeful without being obvious or blunt. This can make it feel somewhat disconnected from the subject and speaker but the flow of the poem is nevertheless expertly constructed and makes it pretty delightful to read out loud to simply taste the way the words form on the tongue.