Half-Past Nine

There's a stream of blood like a river
Flowing softly down hill and past my ankles
Heart beating like the tide hitting shore
And controlled by the balance of the
Ticking clock hanging on my wall
Sweeping into the next minute,
Next hour of my lonely existence
The breath of the past flying outside my window-
The rain begins to fall naturally down my cheeks
And into the palms of a small child
Feeling water for the first time
Words sliding off my pen
And snapping into the image of a black and white Polaroid picture
Nothing is only about you.
The frequencies,
Imagination
And Creation
Lay imbalanced and imperfect.
There is only one you, yes
But the question is, do you matter?

Reviews

[Jake Donald Stephens]

Clock ticking.....heart beating......blood pumping.....wind blowing.....rain falling.
The clock is meaningless, heart beats are the real tick-tock (counting down to death), blood is pretty and warm, but wind is cold and emotionless, and rain.....well, that can be either neat or a terrible nuisance, depending on whether you're safe at home, or out in it.
Your poems are among my favorites. I've probably said this before, but you should publish a book of them.

[Gabby Nieves]

I always enjoy reading your comments, they always make my day. Thank you, you really understand everything I write and it's really f*****g awesome.

[Justin Xavier Smith]

Oh man. This is harsh and deep. I like it. I'm not sure I get how all the elements converge but each line evokes a very solid FEELING from me, and isn't that the point? So, yeah. Good job.

[Gabby Nieves]

That's what I love about poetry, it can be so raw and out there. Things that don't seem naturally combined can be in the same line and somehow come together in the writers mind. I love it, and I'm so glad you got something out of my writing. Means a whole lot to me, especially in hard times like now. Thank you c: