Thursday, April 15, 2010

Several times the thought grazed her mind.
A sharp shiny silver
gliding over her wrist.
A moment of intense focus,
a blurring of all else
but that deep release of pain.
A cathartic red palette,
a purging of sorrow.
Of squeezing out the surplus poison.
In search of not an end,
But the beginning of a flow.
Of a rhythm that will sing.


  1. Beautiful. The symbolism is intense. :)
    Never associated emotions with red.
    The variation in the meter, as you go from one line to another, keeps you interested.
    And, I s'pose, one of the very few poems which uses the spondee and cretic effectively. :)