A Warming Period, A Shivering Trend

A poem about a night, where everything moved me.

A Warming Period, A Shivering Trend

 

I press my hands together, in a lowly and selfish prayer.

A prayer for change.

My life becomes filled with reoccurence, and the same actions.

Actions that pretend to be filled with happiness.

When all that is honest, is running away with the sunlight.

 

The air was thick, and the smell of a thousands summers ago.

The heat on the back of my neck, and the chill biting my fingers.

Crouching in the corner.

Sitting at the table.

Left.

Right.

Right. Approachable. With starry eyes, and shaking legs, I walk over.

The voice has no disception, no description of inner distaste.

I smile, and wait.

Left.

Left. Beautiful, breathtaking, and it strikes fear within my insides.

Pretend, talk, be confident in insecurities.

Those eyes, I can't look in those eyes. Run. Runaway.

 

The music pounded into my ears and ripped through my body.

I held my head up, hands in the air, stretching for mercy.

In a crowd of non-believers, I believe.

Offensive, and useless, I fall to my knees.

I pray for deliverance, as I watch.

Right.

Enrapsed in the beating and sexual predatory action.

Quiet, quiet, silence.

A break in the air, and I'm back again, open eyes, and closed ears.

Watching, as the hands keep their task.

Singing now, I'm singing at the top of my lungs, as loud as my chest will allow.

Left. Left the cold air cascades in, and I hold my own hands.

I hold them, and feel the roughness of the index and middle finger.

Its behind me, and I cannot look, too beautiful. Too scary.

 

Right. Right away, I run, and follow.

I scream and strike the air.

Right, and I feel warm, like in the summer, when you've,

Felt the summer heat, and it cools down.

When you've, watched the sun go down.

My mouth, wide and my heart, brave.

Right into the light.

Left, left into the moon.

Standing, fingers touching, with care, and a sensual destruction.

Falling out of the sky, into the water.

I plunge and look up, at the darkly painted scenery.

Left, and I feel cool, like in the winter, when you've,

Felt the drippy air all night, and it heats up.

When you've, watched the sun come up.

My mouth, closed, and my heart, afraid.

Left into the dark.

 

Time flies, and running away becomes an option.

I follow the moon, its mystery leading me.

Words are whispered, and I feel myself shrinking.

Shrinking, like a shy flower, at the cold nippy air.

A smile shed upon me, and I run.

I run toward the sun.

Then I stop. As time continues to flow through me.

A night. A morning.

The Moon. The Sun.

Cold and mysterious. Warm and inviting.

My left. My right.

 

I'll never make it out of this alive.

Author's Note

Please try not to critique without reason.

Reviews

[Penny Ellen]

Lovely imagery! Wonderful vocaublary in this piece.
I especially like the third stanza. It begins with music and ends with fear...pretty uncommon when you consider that a lot of music is supposed to be... well, not connected with fear.

[thats danny]

Everything you do is beautiful =] first poem has already put to shame half the s**t already on this site.