It was in the dining room;
It hung from the curtains
In his study.
It was so palpable when
He worked, which he
Always did. He had
A place to kneel
But almost never got the chance.
At night when dreams
Would torture me with doors
That wouldn’t go away,
I’d walk the hall.
The setting moon would
Put a pale, light rectangle
On the study floor,
An ended slide show
With the projector on.
The snake would seethe within
Me, I would never be
Suitable. I would always be
A lonesome ghost in that
House which is forever lost.
I’m an inverted image
Done in a box with a
Hole in it; the light
Would come from without
My life would play within.
She let the snake out dad,
Don’t give in!
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5 comments:
Such vivid imagery and very different ot the other bits of yours I have read.
Although nothing like Peter Gabriels lyrics it still reminds me of him because I feel it is deeply personal but somehow elusive. As though we are being given titbits of information that we have to piece together.
Mind you it is probably me being a little stupid and missing your point entirely but never mind. Great poem. Great read and very intringuing.
Laura, thanks so much! As always, your expert analysis and perceptive feedback are always very important to me. Realy enjoyed your poem on the arms dealers BTW!
Right you are, my perceptive friend! This was not my most accessible poem for sure. There is lots here which still tantalizes me and it is highly personal, so it must read to others as quite obtuse. You are spot on cj and I'm glad of your insight and appreciation!
This bit's lovely beond words
'At night when dreams
Would torture me with doors
That wouldn’t go away,
I’d walk the hall.' I love the darkness and the threads it throws out
Thanks Sue! I am honored by your appreciation! That's one of my favorite parts too.
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