The Repentant Magdalene ~ George De La Tour
The
street is a river I drown in…
Floating
in concrete I hear
the
cries of broken dreams
writing
their epitaphs across my skin.
No
one throws me a life line.
________0_______0________0________0________0
Is there meaning in meaningless?
Who toe tags our lives with definitions
when our actions don’t play well in their boundaries?
My mind swims through a sea of perceptions
where waves of another’s understanding
crash me against mirrors void of my own reflection.
There is a threshold somewhere between sane and insane.
I don’t know if I am drowning in madness or if
the collective verbal condemnation is simply noise.
Clawing the skull cap that houses my essence
I try to find the center of who I should be,
but it morphs into something else as soon as
imagination becomes bored with where I am.
I am forever chasing shadows with a pen
to capture their words so others
can see the voices in my head...
such is life lived in ink stains.
Comments
I am forever chasing shadows with a pen
to capture their words so others
can see the voices in my head...
That sort of says it all. Thanks so much for participating, Susie.
Grace
really intriguing reflection, Susie... and I can relate.
crash me against mirrors void of my own reflection."
That is just brilliant, Susie.
This portion really struck me as profound.
There is a threshold somewhere between sane and insane. I don’t know if I am drowning in madness or if the collective verbal condemnation is simply noise.