Attempted Resuscitation of Things Passed
by
A heart beats
in the hollow
of a palm.
Between clenched
fingers, blood
rolls away,
down the back
of a hand, with
few regrets,
squeezed
by the fist
of give and take.
Released,
unaccompanied,
to plummet.
A feeble pulse.
Much too distant
for revival.
17 comments:
that's a sad poem...
really? Huh. I didn't intend it that way. :)
Clever use of form and words make this a nifty read - provocative and poetic...
Phew! I'm not going to put my heart into your hands, but what an amazing image! Oh yeah, I like your picture too..
You're very good. Lots of great imagery here, nice work!
Tumblewords, I have a weakness for wordplay... which can drop into double entendres if I'm not careful. :)
sweet talking guy - How do you know those are MY hands? They could belong to some other psychopath... *g*
sweet talking guy - How do you know those are MY hands? They could belong to some other psychopath... *g*
pepektheassassin - thank you!
To me, this seems to say that desire is unreachable and leaves only regret.
Maybe so, but we have fun trying :-)
anthonynorth - it's interesting how different people interpret the poem. And the different kinds of 'desire'. :)
At the risk of a raised eyebrow from "anonymous", may I? I am really taken by this writing... I see healing after sacrifice, a triumphant thing! As always, your talent is impressive!
Hi constance, I like this take on desire, it flows along nicely with great word choices.
Nonny, we both know Anon would rather wear a tux than read poetry. I think we're safe.
I'm glad you found the positive in the poem. It really is. Honest! :)
rch- thank you! I work at it. :)
awesome photos... elephants, the only animals with soul... what a beauty of images...
littlewing - and they have a heck of a memory too... :)
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