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

[Priscilla Sayers]

A compassionate voice. Nicely done.

[patricia]

This is a stunning write, with an amazing voice to it. Thankyou.

[Aella.lives]

@Marie That's a good interpretation. I wasn't too sure if that's what I meant but I do like that outlook, more positive than I had initially thought.

[Marie]

I understand, I think. You're saying that there are "halts" before each progress? Very good expressive.

[Who Cares]

Your diction is breath-taking, I love how you end each stanza with halts, and then one word that summerizes it. This is simply beautiful and you did an amazing job. It was a powerful piece and I have to say that I am impressed.

[AK]

Very nice poem! Well done!

[s.r.knight]

I love how you ended each stanza, it was really beautiful

[Aella.lives]

@Starbucks and @Thomas Fitzgerald wow that's so lovely, thank you!

[Thomas Fitzgerald]

The surfacing age of words are a complete and utter great use of your mind, well done, good read.

[Divinity Sleeps in This]

The phrasing in this is beyond original, it's just really effective and poetic!

1. When this child knows no language,- Of austere kisses that have been given life
2. That beats my skin with ice; halts, - Suns

The endings of each stanza were a pure unexpected delight!