The opening

by August   Oct 19, 2004


Broken bones bred this
Broken home
I walk through an open door
Past chairs that lie on unswept floors
Crying and laughing all the while
Punching pictures on the wall
Beating a march down the hall
To land on a bloodied bed

Five wild horses
Storm the earth
As they have done
Since your birth
And I stand staring into the mirror of the meadow
Forgotten, sand in the sea

No speaking, cold places
Sings like winter wind's cry
But here you created
Closets of glass and knives
No motion of value
These riddles forged of lies

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Latest Comments

  • 11 years ago

    by Bridgette

    Wow this is really good. I love the way that you worded this.. it really caught my attention. It flowed beautifully & was very well written. Great job on this!

  • 13 years ago

    by August

    that's funny, i didn't know being dull was a style

  • 13 years ago

    by Sarah Christine

    Everyone has different styles but thank you for the comment

  • 13 years ago

    by August

    this is one of those poems that is frequently being revised. someday it will work *sigh*. but for now, it's a not-so-great poem about a really screwed up couple from the view of the abuser, not the abusee for once.