My First Symbolism

The heavens fall
with the sound of a spark.
Something sudden, not spoken,
but with the twist of a heart.

Intrals exposed
for all to view
or so I thought
because of you.

The core cracks open,
and I see inside.
With a tear of realization
I run to hide.

Drowning slowly, miserably
in music and thought.
My realization isn't real realization.
I'm confused by the insurance I thought I'd bought.

The white clouds turn brown,
and the blue sky, a red.
Now, lying on the yellow grass,
all my doubts are fed.

My tears become salt and burn my eyes.
My arms become not my own.
Far from here, I've decided,
reality and purity have flown.

I wish, for one moment, I had control
of other people's lives and decisions
and where the doctor pointed the knife
when making his initial incision.

I pour all my snot and blood
in a bucket hanging on the wall
and hoist it to the rotten sky
never to have seeped at all.

© Copyright 2006 poetvoices