The Black Porcelain

Obtrusive, fine blood

flows against this bloodstream.

Incurable madness

rushes through the veins

of black porcelain.

Your tears are snow-white,

they lack a little love.

I am afraid

that my melancholy will not live

to see old age.

You are a human made of pain,

a creature that needs

too much tenderness.

Do not listen to the whisper

of angels, put on fear

that will bring you eternity.

Your heart is woven of uncertainty,

of fear of an unfinished apocalypse.

Will you lend me

a little bit of the past?

Reviews

[M. J. Smith]

Shadows... Would Barnabas Collins have written to words like this? Of course, he was never a poet. But you almost seem like a figure from the show, Dark Shadows. Tragic, romantic... Very goth, if what I've read is anything to judge by. You capture the vibe well. And I mean it in the best way possible. Goths fascinate me. Intelligent, vaguely otherworldly. You write like that.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

Your writing is terrific. Wonderful free verse with rhythm.
and the images and metaphors make the words jump off the page in tandem.
I like the black/white clash.
I could lend you all you need of he past.
I have much stored up from the sixties and early seventies.

j.

[Carlos Lorenzo Estrada]

there is a sorrowful beauty to these words. You have a very emotive style of writing that speaks to the heart eliciting emotion and relatability towards your words. Wonderful work Katarzyna.

[Lisasview]

Another, moving and interesting poem..
Lisa