A Four Year Old Lamentation

These are what my thoughts about my mom look like. Teen angst, man. It's real.

A Four Year Old Lamentation

There’s a picture perfect

moon in the sky and

all I can think about is

        you

(which doesn’t make sense

because the moon in the heavens and

all the stars in the galaxy have

nothing to do with you and I).

I think it’s because it was you who I

told all my secrets to,

you who I confided in--I think it’s because

I trusted you.  

Sometimes I look up at the cosmos and

wonder what type of angel she is

and then I wonder if I ever told you

my deep, dark thoughts about

what happened.  

I can’t remember.

My mind is as thick and heavy

as my tongue feels--

        fog

everywhere and I cannot see

where I am going, much less

where I have come from.

There’s something inside of me that,

like a caged dog, is awaiting to be

unlocked from its restraining bars and

I don’t know where to start talking without

sounding like an absolute madman.

I think that this poem has transformed from

a few lines about you to

a few lines about her and to be honest,

I don’t remember the last time

        I wrote about her

(but I guess I should try).

I was a child when I first went to bed

and a teenager as I turned in my sleep--

we could be twins, she and I,

with our closed eyes, and

visions of stars at night and

        pale complexions like

the sand on the beach basking

in the glow of the hanging moon.

I wonder if she met Samael.

I wonder if he was nice.

They told me how much I looked like her;

they gushed about how we had the

same personality, same sense of humor,

but I didn’t want to hear a word they said--

I don’t think I could stand to look

myself in the mirror if that were true

because it would be a constant reminder of

        her

and I don’t want to be reminded.

I think that we all start off as angels and

that somehow we end up here,

bound down to a life full of interactions

and paths to cross and plans to make;

I think that we all finish as angels and

that somehow we end up there,

no longer a single form and single being,

we become infinite once more.  

But then I remember that even Lucifer,

himself, once wore white wings and I think

that sometimes we’re no better than him--

that I’m no better than him.

I hope Raphael can fix us and

I pray that Uriel can set us straight

because in this aphotic world, I want

to be able to see straight down into

        into the abyss.

I want to see you through unbiased eyes and

hear you through impartial ears the way

that I used to be able to until that night

outside your house.  

I want to tell you all of these things I think

about the two of us--

all these things I think about my

        mother

and that night and those days

in which it happened.

Just please don’t clip my wings.

Author's Note

All constructive criticism is wanted.

Reviews

[Epipsychologist]

I think the assonance at the beginning works well. I sometimes try to figure out what vowel repetition works with what moods. In this case at least the "I" sound reminds me of pining, and its repetition makes me think of questioning and an emphasis on the need to know. Does that make sense?

Later in the poem things like inner rhyme are less abundant, but you make use of repetition in other ways. This works to emphasize the possibility of similarities between your mother and you.

Finally, I like our comparison to angels, and to Lucifer. The ambivalence makes this approachable rather than preachy (in other words it's not, "we are all angels eventually," nor is it satanic. There's room for interpretation that we have to make on an introspective level.)

I think the stanza beginning "they told me how much I looked like her" bears an interesting idea, but could be reworded to be more poetic.

Finally, I sometimes wonder, if we had to peer into each others souls, with those unbiased eyes that the cosmos might have, would there be any room for angst or hate? How, if we understood everything, and everyone, could there be unsympathetic blame?
These are just things I wonder sometimes. Perhaps this poem intrigues me because it addresses these questions.

[bobc]

T...interesting piece about ambivalence. (At least it reminded me how ambivalent I felt about my mother...for very different reasons, of course.)

I really like the new word in this...aphotic...had to look up photic to understand. In the same stanza where you reference the abyss...I'm sure you must be alluding to Nietzsche's famous quote. Remember that the abyss will return the favour, so to speak, and look just as deeply into you.

Enjoyed the read...thanx...bobc

[Glen Yumang Manese]

I think that this poem has transformed from
a few lines about you to
a few lines about her and to be honest,
I don’t remember the last time
I wrote about her

(but I guess I should try).

This was the turning point of the verse...and then you go into high gear with the sentiments of the whole write...and the ending sums the up with the last line:

Just please don’t clip my wings.

You go for the heart in this passage and just bleeds out of you in the lines...as a reader the conviction is down right felt...and I had a breeze reading this one...flows well and just keeps on giving...