The Sounds Of Heartache

December 20, 2011
By Ohitskarina BRONZE, Waterloo, New York
Ohitskarina BRONZE, Waterloo, New York
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

In the background the telephone in the booth is off the hook.

Street lamps fade in and out, giving just enough light to look,

To look, to see, vacant streets, secluded alley ways, lifeless homes.

A single entity; flushing through lanes, she roams.

-

Can you hear dragging footsteps, or waterfalls in the distance?

Can you hear hallow whipping air, with no one to walk through this?

-

Frantic moment builds inside her chest, eyes rush the search.

Cannot find someone to stand beside her, help her to perch.

‘Forget me not!’ attempting a cry, but can tell it’s far too late.

No lending ears, or shoulders that are offered; she’s in fragile state.

-

Neurotic mind games, twisted anticipation force her to her knees.

Nothing can bring back what is gone, not even these screeching pleas.

Clawing at pavement till’ blood is found under fingernails.

This town is ghosted, she is haunted, realization; her skin pales.

-

Clocking striking, midnight, high time she made a move to leave.

Hands of the clock taunt her; they make the progress she can’t dream.

Come back onto the feet, try and find a steady grip of balance.

It cannot be rushed, this kind of thing, must move at her own pace.

-

Can you hear the ticking time bomb, buried inside her ribs?

Can you hear the desperation in her breath, as herself she forgives?

-

What is there possibly left now, to endeavor?

She faced the absolute worst; he left her.


The author's comments:
It's easy to share things that are immensely personal in poetic format, because often we can take on the persona of someone else, we don't have to say that it is us. Personally. We could put ourselves in different situations than we would normally be but still expel all our emotions through these words, giving a sense of relief without feeling overly vulnerable.

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