Toska - So It Goes

He’s got handprints on his chest

With finger-painted heart palms

And tender tensed fingertips-

So it goes.

 

He’s got a stale kiss on his lips

That still hasn’t washed, 

Never will

 

And

 

He isn’t afraid of death,

Held it in his arms,

Watched it walk away.

 

He swears it looked back.

 

He was told

Not to be sorry

But to treat the next one

Like love wasn’t deep

As he thought it to be.

 

Now he chalks words from dust,

Nourishes hardwood with saline,

And gasps for air that isn't there,

Anymore-

 

So it goes.

 

Reviews

[Angi]

Snapshots. Moments not realized fully, or perhaps they were, pain and loss all the same. The last lines got me. I, too, gasp for air that isn't there anymore ...and so it goes.

[Mark]

I hear in this the kind of stunned, breathless pain we experience when that which we had hoped to be our forever, or who had promised to be our forever, decides not to be, a pain I know well, and recently. Very brutally expressed, as the emotions themselves.

[Star Shaped Heart]

and this is where i do say... such is life! i dont know that i can treat love anymore as if it is so deep. i know it and ive felt its power so great and now its gone-almost as if it never was in the first.

[Ruth]

The death looking back is eerie hon, nicely done!
I think this is great, the embedded livng out life is awesome here, the between shades - the take it and make use of it, the resigned factor to it all and so it continues, excellent xx

[Misty Blue Eyes]

very awesome job here. i loved this part

He’s got handprints on his chest

With finger-painted heart palms

And tender tensed fingertips-

So it goes.


my favorite stanza

[tshigg]

I liked it! A commentary on love and loss of it. I love the imagery it comes together as a true work of art.

I liked it.
It was definetly interesting. (:

[Linear]

Well I liked it, I guess thats how it goes.

[HighBrowCulture]

synchronicity.

pour a little salt we were never here-

i don't want to be in this place anymore.



I’m looking out over the dead garden
Ghost of what could have been
You looked like dusk in that wedding dress
I promised what I’ll never get the chance to say

Our child would laugh
You said he had my eyes
I swore they’ve got too much summer in them
They must be yours
He won’t ever be
He’ll never call you mother

Frost on the glass pane
I’ll leave a letter in the ash
When the rain turns to snow
Will she know?
I never meant to go-

[NoneOfYourBusiness akaK..]

fingerpainting with hearts themselves is forever a tenuous affair~ pure impact~ emotional whirwind~ your words rip straight through the core of being~reeling~ what imagery~but not just imagery~ beautiful ghosts dancing on a heart cutout with glee until everything bleeds~I knew femmes such as this~I wore femmes such as these like a soft coat with too much ease in the fit~now I keep my hands in pockets and fingerpaint secured in Pandora's box~
still reeling here~ my goodness what a journey~