Daffodils In Broken Skin

by Ben Pickard   Aug 5, 2019


Today I'm sheathed in hot regret and pain
As not an end will meet the way it should
The mirror births an image of disdain
And shimmers where a solid man had stood

~ I crack the glass and snap the mast
That's made from rotting wood ~

How can I pray or even start to think
That when at last I die, the clouds will part?
Has heaven really blinked a timely blink
And missed my life but saw the virgin start?

~ I tear the page from whence I prayed
And take my place apart ~

I scandalised the righteous blood that flowed -
For then my heart would pump a vintage rouge -
So where it ran with verse, it runs with prose
And now resembles sewage, gunk and ooze

~ I break the skin, and thus begin
A purge of what I grew ~

--

Ben Pickard 2019

5


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Latest Comments

  • 1 week ago

    by Em (marmite)

    Why do you always, always do this... It's like you read my mind and exactly what I'm thinking though you write it better.. Much better
    Take care and congrats on front page x

    • 1 week ago

      by Ben Pickard

      I guess, truthfully, many of us feel a little like this sometimes, Em. Although my poems often tend towards the miserable, it's for that reason maybe that people can relate. Not sure.

      Take care and thank you

  • 2 weeks ago

    by Milly Hayward

    Another fine poem oozing with imagery and emotion. Very dynamic I could imagine this being read out on stage with those amazing acoustics echoing the vigour of this piece. Milly x

  • 2 weeks ago

    by Kitty Cat Lady

    Blimey Ben! This is so vivid and raw and bitter and asks a million existential questions. Hats off to you sir! Happily nominated :-) x
    =^.^=

    • 2 weeks ago

      by Ben Pickard

      Thanks so much Kitty and thank you for the nomination

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