Don't you sometimes get that restless feeling that, well, it's been far too long since I wrote something about suicide? I do.
It's also been a while since I posted any poetry on here. And I find myself a little short of inspiration at the moment; and the back catalogue is starting to run short; and the 'morbid' ones tend to be my best. So..... this is what you get.
This effort was inspired partly (as always) by my obsessive infatuation of a year or so ago with The Poet, and partly by a near-drowning experience I had as a small child (which was actually extremely peaceful, almost ecstatic) - and also perhaps partly by being reminded of this by the remarkably composed and tranquil suicide-by-drowning of Virginia Woolf portrayed in the film version of 'The Hours'.
Drowning in you
You are the water - cold yet inviting;
The impenetrable surface,
The sparkling reflections,
The flowing to the sea...
You are all these.
You are the stones in my pockets,
The ache in my lungs,
The dimming of my sight,
The bright circle of the world receding.
You are the stillness,
The calming silence,
The brief euphoria before the End.
You are the End.
5 comments:
It was beautiful Froog.
And I am actually happy to read that you are not feeling "morbid enough". However, I know the strange need for a touch of morbidity and a handful of melancholy for the somewhat masochistic artist to be inspired.
Dear tulsa, I have just seen your comment on challenging me. I think I have earned a few points already this week -are we counting?
Earthling: hah! i just logged on and see that you've managed to comment before me on a brand new post!
how is this possible?!
and then I read your comment, yes, yes, it looks like you've gotten some points this week, but really, this is the first one that caught me by surprise.
Froog: yah, i figured inspiration was running low. summer tends to do that to me, too. or if inspiration doesn't run low, then the desire to sit and write runs low (why would I want to do that when I could be outside playing?!)
with the weather so nice, I've been regularly walking Dongzhimen to Gulou Zhonglou... strangely, it reminds me of my walks through Glover Park to Georgetown and Key Bridge, with the Rosslyn lights twinkling over the waters. I could expand/explain the similarities, but I'd rather be playing outside.
The poem is well-done. I like the descriptors you've used. and like another poem you recently posted, I actually like this one without the explanation... odd, since I originally really enjoyed reading the preambles. In this case, I think it does better standing alone.
and it is certainly not as morbid as some of the stuff you've posted before!
'Who wants to live forever' - Queen
I'm no writer so I'll leave it at that, but keep writing poems. They (whoever they are) say, “Work hard. Play hard”...
Oooh, a genuinely anonymous commenter - a stranger passing through - at last?! Rather than just one of my friends who's too lazy or incompetent to leave a name???
In the words of The Kurgan:
"I have something to say: it is better to burn out than to fade away!"
Post a Comment