These Soft, Bloated Hands

August 13, 2016
By MarCM BRONZE, Baltimore, Maryland
MarCM BRONZE, Baltimore, Maryland
2 articles 0 photos 0 comments

Favorite Quote:
"The best way to predict the future is to create it." --Peter Drucker


A silky exhalation, a weak, humid breeze,
Baby’s breath,
A moon’s young shadow,
Resting among the weeping trees.

 

A lake of glass veiled in them there,

Collecting stars
In its dark waters,
Lifted from the dusky air.

 

But not the world in twilight sleep.
Secrets held
In wind and whispers,
Tempting whispers from the deep.

 

Though for me I call it home,
Beneath the calm and lapping waves,
My voice belongs and joins the others’
In rehearsed and lilting poem.

 

Our clammy hands stretched to the skies,
We wail in harmony and rancid cry,
Keep walking
Don’t listen
To soft, beautiful lies.


The author's comments:

This poem was meant to reflect the urgency displayed by souls whose fates had been sealed in murky waters, the desperation felt that the reader might not follow in their path. The allure of a beautiful veneer can be difficult to resist, however. The final stanza should be read out in loud, urgent tones to emphasize the contrast between this silky impression by moonlight and the tragic desperation lurking beneath the starry surface.


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