15.6.11

Jailed

Blurred images put lights upon brick,
never knew sanity looked so
                      empty

There are bars of shadows on the floor
tiles reflecting that
                      nothing matters

If who I am, is huddled in this corner
rocking, sweating early dawn;

If who I am no longer matters
Then why does the air feel torn?
Posted by wanderer above the mist at 15.6.11
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12 comments:

  1. Brian MillerJune 15, 2011 at 9:08 PM

    whew, this is a rather haunting write...to see yourself in that corner...the torn air...yikes....

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  2. Pat HattAugust 16, 2011 at 10:22 PM

    Really gripping tale, love the last two lines, nice.

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  3. ClaudiaAugust 17, 2011 at 2:28 AM

    boah you're painting a dark picture - starting with the empty feeling sanity and then a punch in the stomach ending..

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  4. brenda wAugust 17, 2011 at 8:44 AM

    This hit me hard. That last line? amen.

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  5. California Ink in MotionAugust 17, 2011 at 10:58 AM

    The last two line were incredible. You put a voice to those who find themselves locked up and mostly forgotten. Powerful

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  6. Jannie FunsterAugust 17, 2011 at 1:20 PM

    I've never been to jail -- and sure hope never to end up there for the reasons your words describe. Such sadness.

    Haunting write.

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  7. UnknownAugust 17, 2011 at 3:00 PM

    sad and well written thank you

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  8. Arron ShillingAugust 17, 2011 at 5:14 PM

    This is a stunning poem.
    You have really pierced me.
    Perhaps i relate or its great writing...both for sure.
    skill and brevity snared in a simple structure but punching well above its weight.

    Feels flawless to me

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  9. KavitaAugust 17, 2011 at 5:38 PM

    Woww... lots of thought gone into this one... brilliant piece of writing, Kelly!
    Aren't we all just jailed within the confines of our own mind?! You've brought that out so masterfully here... making us ask ourselves questions whose answers seem soooo far away, and yet, so near...

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  10. BeachannyAugust 17, 2011 at 10:22 PM

    If who I am, is huddled in this corner
    rocking, sweating early dawn;

    If who I am no longer matters
    Then why does the air feel torn?

    Perhaps these words can allow someone to think twice rather than having to experience this.
    Thank you.

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  11. AnonymousAugust 18, 2011 at 11:08 AM

    This was a dark and powerful piece Kelly.
    We can all, at times, find ourselves locked in some sort of prison - working out how to get out is often the problem.
    Thanks for a great read.

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  12. Jingle Poetry At Olive GardenAugust 20, 2011 at 8:44 AM

    elegant imagery.

    :)

    ReplyDelete

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