The Crimson in us all
Please note: This is actually my first attempt at writing poetry for myself let alone an audience. Please be gentle in comment.
The taunting and name calling I feign I do not hear
With quick tiny steps my determined feet shuffle away
Fist clenched translucent white, I grasp tightly in my pocket
My little plastic Jesus bought for just 2 cents
From an aged woman in a corner market store.
Her eyes drowned in sorrow beared no life as
Her soul, long gone, left but a cavity of human flesh
Crimson blood her eyes cried silently
Cold fingers wrapped tightly about
My little plastic Jesus bought for just 2 cents.
Wandering about the stores, my 2 cents heavy in my pocket
I search for something worthy of my 2 cents
Found in sweeping the black and grey from the guttered path
When I see the dead woman crying Crimson blood
Clutching my little plastic Jesus tightly to her breast.
Her watched eyes pierced through my heart
And as the bleeding drowned my aching fear and pain
She grabbed my hand and into it pressed my little plastic Jesus,
Washing the Crimson red over both of us
The storm refusing to end I could not release her wrinkled hand.
The Crimson kept rising until I could no longer hold tight
And with the courage that I lacked she had lost her will to fight
Her soulless but steady eyes met mine and they said the end had come
And when I reached to grab her body tearing from mine she yelled
‘Don’t you even dare to follow me’.
My heart cried out and I tried in desperation to reach down
My 2 cents heavy in my pocket falling after her
But with my 2 cents she slipped below the Crimson
And as I felt my heart grow empty I knew she was dead
Leaving behind my little plastic Jesus bought for 2 cents.
I tried to live for both of us and fought the fight for two
But her love of life had gone and she had left in me a cavity
Of darkness lacking hope and heal the pain I could not
For love could not conquer fear and she who was the Crimson in us all
Faded behind the demons of pain, suffering and fear.
With that I will never be the same
But my little plastic Jesus bought for 2 cents knows
All too well how I feel and I clench my fingers tightly
Around the sliver of hope and light left behind the fear
Determined not to lose again.
The taunting and name calling I feign I do not hear
With quick tiny steps my determined feet shuffle away
Fist clenched translucent white, I grasp tightly in my pocket
My little plastic Jesus bought for just 2 cents
From an aged woman in a corner market store.
Her eyes drowned in sorrow beared no life as
Her soul, long gone, left but a cavity of human flesh
Crimson blood her eyes cried silently
Cold fingers wrapped tightly about
My little plastic Jesus bought for just 2 cents.
Wandering about the stores, my 2 cents heavy in my pocket
I search for something worthy of my 2 cents
Found in sweeping the black and grey from the guttered path
When I see the dead woman crying Crimson blood
Clutching my little plastic Jesus tightly to her breast.
Her watched eyes pierced through my heart
And as the bleeding drowned my aching fear and pain
She grabbed my hand and into it pressed my little plastic Jesus,
Washing the Crimson red over both of us
The storm refusing to end I could not release her wrinkled hand.
The Crimson kept rising until I could no longer hold tight
And with the courage that I lacked she had lost her will to fight
Her soulless but steady eyes met mine and they said the end had come
And when I reached to grab her body tearing from mine she yelled
‘Don’t you even dare to follow me’.
My heart cried out and I tried in desperation to reach down
My 2 cents heavy in my pocket falling after her
But with my 2 cents she slipped below the Crimson
And as I felt my heart grow empty I knew she was dead
Leaving behind my little plastic Jesus bought for 2 cents.
I tried to live for both of us and fought the fight for two
But her love of life had gone and she had left in me a cavity
Of darkness lacking hope and heal the pain I could not
For love could not conquer fear and she who was the Crimson in us all
Faded behind the demons of pain, suffering and fear.
With that I will never be the same
But my little plastic Jesus bought for 2 cents knows
All too well how I feel and I clench my fingers tightly
Around the sliver of hope and light left behind the fear
Determined not to lose again.
posted by m. at 12:57 AM
3 Comments:
Excellent
Very dark, and it also seems quite personal. The imagery is strong and the link between the two protagonists (mother and child perhaps?) is believable.
A+ for you mystery writer
I am utterly in awe.
Of this poem.
Of you, writer.
This peom was ultra fantastic, for several reasons, and espicially for a first poem.
I really liked how it was like a story, it reminded me actually of those story songs, such as "a boy named sue."
I found the end particularily powerful. I agree that it seems dark, but it also seems to have a hopefuleness in the last stanza as well.
I really enjoyed it and thanks for sharing it with us!I hope you keep it up!
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