Friday, March 9, 2012

Sense of Place

Stagnant dead space within,
darkened hollows between,
where the concrete wears thin,
leaves us nothing for dreams.

Darkened hollows between,
dusty wallpapered rooms,
leaves us nothing for dreams,
frail debris now entombed.

Dusty wallpapered rooms,
what remains can't be taken,
frail debris now entombed,
brittle bones left forsaken.

What remains can't be taken,
sung prayers sweetly taunt,
brittle bones left forsaken,
hearth and stone echoes haunt.

Sung prayers sweetly taunt,
where the concrete wears thin,
hearth and stone echoes haunt,
stagnant dead space within.


  1. Fantastic poem! It was so beautiful to read and so haunting.

  2. i love that even among the desolate picture you paint there is still hope...and what can not be taken away even among the debris...

  3. A lot of despair in here, but the sung prayer makes me think of hope, the hope that is always rising from the love that is.

  4. I like "sung prayers sweetly taut." Maybe in every line?

  5. The sounds in this and their repetition work quite well I think. It's sad and poignant of some unknown sadness though perhaps the very fact of death's existence brings a certain love of fate filled with a sense ofr the tragic face of life. Repetition itself is perhaps significant in this regard, since the round of death repeats itself ad infinitum giving no releif or jumping off. Can we repeat our deaths every day and find joy, I wonder? Nice exploration of a theme that should inform our lives continually.

  6. ˙ʇı ɥʇıʍ oƃ oʇ ǝɹnʇɔıd ʇɐǝɹƃ ɐ puɐ 'ɯǝod lnɟıʇnɐǝq