Crushed

CRUSHED

Crushed…

a slight beat

from a quivering mass.

It’s shape indiscernible,

tainted with darkness…

Not a vibrant red.

The vibrancy is missing

And the beat matches…

weakened…

tired…

aching.

Fluid still moves…

lacking in its flow…

energy depleted…

like the dying moments

of a storm.

A storm…

a life force…

raging…

angry…

wildly passionate…

an exciting spectacle…

full of life…

pulsating energy.

A joy.

The mass needs to re-form…

come alive…

take energy from

tendrils…

lightning…

to cure the darkness.

Life giving.         

                                © Eva Bielby 2016

 

Reviews

[Neville]

A terrifically tantalizing poem, dangerously heavy and crushingly so... N

[emmajoy]

At first you appear to gulp your phrases, creating an almost choking effect. Inhaling, exhaling as if what's happening is almost too much.. Until.. you pause for a few seconds.. creating tension.. then you gather momentum, watching.. absorbing, taking. Keeping? It 's how i see and feel it, could be oh so wrong - often am.

[Relic]

I think there are certain factors that break down one's energy or inspiration. Those factors vary, of course, but I like your descriptions here very much. You put sadness into a form that's disintegrating; losing hope.

Nicely done, Eva.