Untitled Poem

Updated: Jan 9, 2021


With tinny drumbeats, the

rain pounds the roof

My teary eyes compete

They can't keep up


Breathe

Let it go

Breathe


The vice on my chest tightens its razoring grip

I gasp

No relief


If only tears could soothe the pain

Then, I would look upon the tidal waves against these

walls without fear

Crush and roll me, I'd plead, Mold my body anew


But with these tears come no healing,

Just death, slow and determined

This old girl, this old woman, this old soul lives here inside

A tortoise outgrowing this hare's body

This youthful skin encasing a crumbling frame


I smooth the matted web of curls off my sweaty neck

And roll my eyes at the clock


How slowly the time squeaks by here in this room,

In this comfortless bed


I abandon the warmth from under my blanket tower

and shiver

The draft rattles my spine

One by one, striking my vertebrae

Like a spoon chiming empty wine

glasses,

Hitting the same fragile note till

my neck shakes the chill away


I swipe along the naked floor

with a toe for the slippers beneath the bed

Plush fabric caresses my feet


Stand!

Get up

With both hands, Gravity jerks me

back down

With both hands, Gravity jerks me back down

Ugh! This cursed bed!

No more, I want no more of it

I try again

My legs quiver in search of my former strength

Come on, old girl, Come on, old woman, Come on, old soul,

Don't quit now


The floor shakes beneath me,

Hoping I trip and fall


To the living room window, I trudge

My joints grind like gravel under tires

More pain no amount of tears can soothe away


Pinching the embroidered curtain between my knuckles,

I find solace in the gloom

The wind humming against the window,

Makes the house creak and groan


Years ago, the cold numbed my pain

But can it numb me again,

This wretched body and fractured soul?


Outside I venture with chants fluttering my lips,

Desperate solemn pleas

For comfort, For mercy

For ease, For health


I open the plush throw spiraled around my shoulders

And tiptoe around the porch's rain-soaked boards

The chilly air moves through me like Death on a mission,

My body, an empty gorge with no barriers to stop him,

No flesh or bone


My highest and lowest extremities grow numb

But my feeble knees and crippling bones turn half-stone, half-bone

Half-alive, half-dead

No better, just worse


The merciless wind freezes my tears

My chin tumbles in despair


I cover myself and sniffle

Earth’s scent funnels up my nose:

Decay with traces of life in its perfume

The treetops and their slender branches sway,

Defying the bitter gusts


As I turn to seek shelter, the last browned leaf breaks away

It drifts, it floats

At the weary tree’s feet, it makes its bed alongside the others

Like a pile of corpses, they lie

Furled and crinkled with age


No one mourns their death

Or hurries to honor the fallen with thoughtful burials

No rage-filled cries echo their protests at the paws trampling

their fragile bodies,

Or at the desecration by the animals seeking morning relief

And new boundaries to mark


Soon, the stark canopy stretching over the pitiful sight

Will replace them with vibrant buds and leaves

Until the wasting season again returns


For now, more misery will barricade my bones as winter creeps in

Unless Death meets me first to end it

 

I don't know if you guys can tell, but somber things—rainy days, sad songs, and art, in all its forms—calm me. Although, the older I get, the more rain and cold make my body hurt, which is anything but calming and the inspiration for this poem.


Tell me in the comments below. Do you enjoy writing/reading/hearing poetry? If so, what kinds do you like? Dark poetry? Poems that tell a story or rhyme and flow like song lyrics?


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