She gives her memory
rather sells it in a
monetary world absurd
she sells something
that doesn’t belong
to her
A whiplash
crack air soil matter
a second fingers snap
the whole story's told
that inevitably ends
on a cold pavement
I listened to whispers in the endless corridors
shhh I heard and felt gowns brush walls
gray marbles turn to white with velocity
I couldn’t help it, I ran.
Still,
she sells her memory
drowns it in water first
her brain is like a washing-machine
humming in the semi-darkness
wall-to-wall carpets
ear-to-ear smiles
in the hall
yes I ran
Tinkling coins
and ticking clocks
congratulations
she sells her memory
to buy herself a future
(she’s forgotten how she ran)
WOW! I'm Stunned, such imageries feels these corridors, your mind, your heart and soul! To write this poem!
Sounds or pictures of many hurt souls, looking, searching (in corridors, through eachother, etc. and seeing their sadness and knowing their feelings, becoming a part of your own!
I enjoyed reading and sounds a tinge of sad, since this write/healing, I hope your heart is filled WITH JOY!
You write amazing!
WRITE ON!
Warmest Blessings of Love, Peace and Hugs, Warrior Purple Lady SHEExooo
There is much to think about when I read your verses, Axilea. This is a poem that is worthy of much more than a single reading. Thank you. Love and best wishes,
Mesmerizing piece here, Axilea. Terrifying--not to be able to rid one's self of horrifying memories... sell them all you will, but they remain--grow--loom still in those mental corridors.
My favorite stanza is the next-to-last. That image of the washing machine is brilliant. I can just see her washing day after day the same, soiled thoughts-- sloshing them around mechanically in a tub of sudsy water-- trying against all hope to remove the stains of whatever haunts are meshed there-in. And all the while, her face is an immaculate garden of well-manicured happiness. (slosh--slosh...)
Maybe she simply needed a new brand of soap?
Now, if only she had a coin for every new load she washed...
As always your thoughts crystalize into poetry as softly as a butterfly exits it's cocoon. Your heart is left revealed and vunerable but not beyond repair and your strength still stands formost in your world of tomorrow. Well written and so true.
Axilea,
The title's the indication, and after the assertions of the first two stanzas I love how the third introduces the personal dimension and then at the end of the fourth blends it into the narrative...we see sides of you and the feelings haunt us.
John
Dear Axilea, I am not anymore suprised . You write so clearly and to the point. "Eli Fat Mat" (What is gone is dead) they say in Arabic. We are all working for the future which we don't know. You are a great poet. Love Emile
A way to use your mind for silent communication. Speaking about the methods in the book I have used since a young age.
21st Century learning. I also have a GoFundMe page to ask for funds so I can research with other people and add their experiences
The captivating music of birds and the enchanting beauty of roses have, each in their own right, inspired people around the world for as long as anyone can remember. How the two combine with the challenges faced by a struggling writer in Georgia to c
The captivating music of birds and the enchanting beauty of roses have, each in their own right, inspired people around the world for as long as anyone can remember. How the two combine with the challenges faced by a struggling writer in Georgia to c
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Sounds or pictures of many hurt souls, looking, searching (in corridors, through eachother, etc. and seeing their sadness and knowing their feelings, becoming a part of your own!
I enjoyed reading and sounds a tinge of sad, since this write/healing, I hope your heart is filled WITH JOY!
You write amazing!
WRITE ON!
Warmest Blessings of Love, Peace and Hugs, Warrior Purple Lady SHEExooo
Regis
My favorite stanza is the next-to-last. That image of the washing machine is brilliant. I can just see her washing day after day the same, soiled thoughts-- sloshing them around mechanically in a tub of sudsy water-- trying against all hope to remove the stains of whatever haunts are meshed there-in. And all the while, her face is an immaculate garden of well-manicured happiness. (slosh--slosh...)
Maybe she simply needed a new brand of soap?
Now, if only she had a coin for every new load she washed...
--Charlie
she sells her memory
to buy herself a future
(she’s forgotten how she ran)
- David
Edwin
Be always safe,
Karen
always a facinating read,
stan
"she sells her memory
to buy herself a future"
Giving up what she knows...to have what she knows not...
Cryssa
Hugs
F
to buy herself a future,"...my favorite lines.
The title's the indication, and after the assertions of the first two stanzas I love how the third introduces the personal dimension and then at the end of the fourth blends it into the narrative...we see sides of you and the feelings haunt us.
John
In the stanzas you start with "she" and end with "I" several times.
Where you ran but she forgot to.
Sad but true.
Doug
I love these lines:
she sells her memory
to buy herself a future
-gene.