Guest

June 23, 2013 at 4:02 pm (literature, philosophy, Poems, poetry, sociology) (, , )

Two bitten lips are evidence, I fear,
of ancient panic hidden in a well,
the bucket drawn when you are far from here,
and I must hold this precious citadel.

These aching shoulders are to be my guards,
which carry and preserve life in our home,
we set a place, and eat, and speak few words,
and clatter through the silence, quite alone.

The doors are bolted shut but I’m afraid
my love is broken into, undermined,
by Loneliness – a muscled retrograde,
who stalks me yet with purpose undefined.

I’ll close the curtains on declining light
and count his eerie footsteps through the night.

Advertisements

7 Comments

  1. annotating60 said,

    Julie, really tightly written. Solid.>KB

  2. nobodysreadingme said,

    😦
    I could feel the ache

  3. metonymy4u said,

    really outstanding. I’ve never been able to write a real sonnet. loved the turn and then the re-turn…

please feel free to comment on these poems - all feedback appreciated. :)

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: