Beneath

I recall warmth and innocence

seeing that little corner 

still and sheltered 

As if I'd fallen back 

to the bristle of a newborn 

against his mother's breast.

Hands were held and kissed.

There was the trickle of salt air, and 

a calm that shouldn't have been 

Forgotten.

Somewhere, a boy remains,

holding life with his fingertips. 

A boy who fluttered through the air,

as leaves do, in quiet corners

lulled and weightless

And fell, as one would, 

out of sight, on and into earth, his face

a rubble, bones fossilised in shock... 

That corner where he dreamt

is layered with dust now.

I hold pieces of him in me. 

Reviews

[William Liston]

This is a very good poem. It's hard to find a poet who maintains a good flow without using meter and rhyme, but you did just that. The imagery and vocabulary were amazing. Great job. I look forward to reading more of your works soon.

[Marcus]

Thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed it. I'm working on effective use of enjambment and perhaps more concrete imagery. Hopefully subsequent poems will work on those aspects :)