Our Words Are a Chalice

Thorny barbed words that blear my judgment

My self have been given, too.

I find I can hide behind the rain

That beats my skin with ice; halts,

Suns.

 

Condemned roots that travel between the lines

To stroke the words on its edges.

I find I can stain paper with ink and

Make black a chalice, gold; halts,

Syllables.

 

When this child knows no language,

Of austere kisses that have been given life,

I find I can grieve with him, too.

It grates against time; halts,

Tomorrow. 

Reviews

[WiLL i e]

A quenching of thirst at each refreshing stanza.

[Cascara (aka Sprint Goe..]

interesting poem.......

thx for the share

[I Shred This Cabbage]

Beautiful. Sober in a gentle stream, like watching a river form itself around its rocks. Well done.

[Ferras K]

great write!!

[Sleeping Maiden]

Ooo...love how you express yourself here! Brilliant write! Love the imagery.. =)

[Geraldine]

Awe, so beautifully written. ^^

[Kelly Scheppers]

I am a fan of repetitive lines throughout the context of a poem. I think it shows great impact, and lends the poet's voice, even louder!

My best,
Kelly

[eatmills]

I love the expressionism in your piece. I would have replaced gold with word or syllables with lead, something in that general direction, to keep with the theme of the other two stanzas.

It is an excellent piece. Thanks for the share.

[Trusting]

I love the reption in this poem. It gives a great vibe.

[CatOfOrion]

I love the fluency you formed in this, the rhythmic beat that the "halts" brings was rather lovely. Very nice piece!