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Sweeping Up Fragments
Late at night
Pretending the little glass piano
Reflects no burden of tomorrow
I’d like to wipe my eyes
So please
Leave me be
Scars are lighter
When you dream of open plains
And kneel to pray
Beneath the swaying lemon trees
Count the broken words
Which the goblins
Hand to the small, frightened boy
To get him to cease
His piercing cries
Before taking his quivering life
And pocketing it so quietly
For them to sleep
Quite fitfully
My face betrays me
I will admit
That I am lying to you
So there will be no need
To remember me
Take your beating heart
And your pretty smile
As you walk on a road of sunshine
Away from the graveyard
Of our today
But come back someday
To bury me
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This article has 21 comments.
Many thanks!
Lemons, I have found, have had more effect on me as a poet than any other fruit (although most citrus is influential of my work). :) They are rather more complicated than people, I think, and they have the potential to either provide salvation or break your heart.
Hmm. A word for depressing, honest, and almost artistic? Perhaps you could invent one!
For some reason, I was very glad to hear those particular descriptions of 'Sweeping up Fragments.' It's what I consider to be a raw poem, if you know what I mean. And it's certainly not very cheery.
I liked that your typo made you say 'depressong' instead of 'depressing.' I think that'd be a good word to describe pieces of sad music.
Aren't we?