The Narrator (Poem)


Seeking, drifting, wandering.
Nothing to hold.
A character, strolling up
and waving a chubby hand.
Naming it,
It becomes real.
From the Telling
It grows like a tree.
But locked away,
not just it withers.
Drifting and lost.
Not knowing where to stand,
reaching out to us
to be known
and we come to know ourselves.
Missing pieces, we grieve.
To the Telling Tree,
struggling to breath.
They come.
Forms vague, seeming distant.
Trying to make them out.
Faded, blurred and grey.
Vapor and ash,
no real structure.
Back away.
Vile, twisted, dripping.
Turn away!
Don’t look back!
The secret truth:
not telling
damned them here;
Oblivion.

Advertisements

Posted on November 21, 2015, in Poetry and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

Mistakes & Adventures

What I've always wanted

BioethicsBytes

Multimedia resources for teaching bioethics

Rediskot

Art shenanigans of Xenia Bougaevsky

Crochet Thread

A Modern Interpretation of Vintage Crochet by Ann Reillet Featuring Many Original Designs

Elzeblaadje

Crafting with hook, needle and yarn

Son's Popkes

Crochet animal patterns designed by Sonja van der Wijk

%d bloggers like this: