exhausted

it was a gift,
from my mother.
which cracked
into two distinct pieces
and clung to my hands.
i sank to the floor,
as james scurried around me
picking up two pence pieces
and making excuses.

i knew then,
if i had somebody to call,
who wasn't in love
or hadn't disposed of me
when they'd had enough...
who saw into my heart.
the darkest longings there.
oh, let me lean a little while on you
on our twin bar-stools.
and your true words
could pluck the blood vessels in my eyes.
for one minute, i could cry.

Reviews

[Ed Hart]

I sure can't top, or even add to Zeitgeist_Manifeswto's words...so, I'll just say how nice to have you posting your poetry again...there will be a small fine for your absence, but the committee can't seem to decide on an appropriate amount...I have my own ideas about a proper punishment, but no one is listening to me...

[W.k.kortas]

There is breakage, and there is heartbreak, there is feeling and the lack thereof. It's a tough act to walk the tightrope that separates the overly emotional from the too-academic, but this piece does it like it was a walk in the park. Awfully fine piece of writing.

[Zeitgeist Manifesto]

To me, It seems as if the person here is bonding with another at a bar. I wondered if it is pure emotion or if it's the altered state of consciousness. As I read this poem I just got this image of a beautiful piggy bank. I could understand how sentimental that item would be. I felt the emotions of losing a precious item that seems to have a spirit of its own. To lose something that special almost triggers a feeling of death. I think this poem is beautifully written. I love the contrast between the two interactions. The first one was disappointing and I felt resentment, but the second seemed to be the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. It was nice to see this person almost healed emotionally, but I only wonder if it is real. Wonderful poem.