a mime's tale

by pmmurphy   May 14, 2018


when my hands lay
they lay, they hold on the gravel
they tear shreds of the world
and showcase them in front of my palms
for others to view, this, is my cage.
do not know, nor, do I understand
why this cage is so pivotal.

they come, they see
they drench themselves in my taste
dressing their eyes like a fruit salad
ready to be digested by the hoards.
dinner is appropriate and this dining
only happens when I too allow it.

So please, dine away
eat the motion of my hand
as I refuse to speak,
I mark the lands and know that
these motions showcase my talents
and my talent is in full-motion,
with no sound irking from these lips.

caught in a masterpiece so to say
hands dangle from top of the air
down to the floor, my hands are hands
these delicate toys show you how I feel
as I create doves flying across my heart,
the message is clear.
I am in love.

as the doves flutter through the cage
the graveled up piece of clay
the cage of a night
no, the cage of a day, no
the cage of whenever,
the sun still shines and hits my chest
the viewers still view
and the dove crackles breaking its chains
letting lose anything I wanted, no,
anything we wanted.

now as the bird has fluttered
the heart is found on the floor,
where I lay, laying in this gravel,
in this cage. taught that my vision
this artistic ploy, is mere distractions.
my heart cannot be displayed
for it is torn,
torn under the flames of another love
where this hands now showcase
the flying embers, that red disaster
that quake day, those remembrances
its not long in this flight do we look to fly
even though clipped wings cause us to soar
quickly, and frankly, all the way down back to the gravel.
one day is not enough, these hands.
are not enough, I wished for another
another pair,
yet all I got was flames.

breathe in the paint from these nails
the flying drifting chipped lather
from the surface of my makeup,
I am the trapeze artist looking to shake his bones
the swollen foot, right before a broken ankle
the base of the heart, right before it shattered.
I would want her to know that this cage
this box, this escape, these people, this day
this night, these hours, everything entitled to this art
is nothing but a hidden reminder
a hidden hour
a hidden message
a place we all go to find ourselves and collect our gravel.
collect our hearts, find those embers
and still, we still look for another reason.
simply another reason to burn it all down again.

now I ask you, am I self-destructive
or is this just a vision, a vision for you to see
how you burned my heart and left me
in this cold white makeup
on this cold dry street,
picking up the pieces of gravel left
at these twinkling toes
broken on this shattered pavement
where the gravel, the gravel I still hold
those days I still know, those hours I still miss
the minutes were we left our last kiss,
the pain still distraught these hands
as they show the dove,
the flame. the burning sensations
the days we all loved each-other
and now the parting goodbye
that simple goodbye.

with this I scowl in the dusk,
leaving with not but a single sound.
the tears from my eyes
scar my mascara and burn my retina
I can still see and these casings still look beautiful,
this gravel has tainted and indented my skin
the palms of my hands are still hungry for another flight.
but with this I plead a goodbye.
as I walk back home.

2


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Latest Comments

  • 4 years ago

    by Milly Hayward

    Wow.... At first the length of this piece was quite daunting especially with so much to take in but then I lost myself in the imagery and found it a compelling read that is truly magnificent. Milly x