a little note before work, stained in jelly and breadcrumbs

[paperleaves]

The past few months have been this really incredible, long journey. My eyes have been opened to so many things in such a short period of time that I haven't been able to think clearly (thus, unable to write). This morning, I wrote this, because the idea of our lives is so awe-inspiring to me. To contemplate the fragility of all of our lives is quite chilling, and seeing death on a daily basis isn't aiding in my pursuit to happiness. But it does relieve me of one thing--regret. Knowing that today may be your last day on Earth provides you with the hope that is nearly impossible to find at some points in your life, and this poem is really just a messy conglomerate of pasts, presents, and futures that are woven so intricately that I couldn't resist to spit them out somehow. Thanks for reading

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a breath,
a simple pause in the nutmeg wind, a chilling blanket wrapped around my
pale, white ankles, whispering all the poems
I've let in my head
through the back door.
a quiet request, an art form sequestered in the death glow of winter,
proposed by my hands and accepted by
the readers, their eyes all quietly buzzing with an intense yearning,
striving for that one line, that one line that will
knock them out so quickly that they'll
forget all the suffering, forget all the stuttering,
and remember what love is.
to toy with life and death, they say, is to be a god,
but that's just a myth, created by poets
who are too ashamed to reveal their true power

[~Sophia~]

a simple pause in the nutmeg wind, a chilling blanket wrapped around my
pale, white ankles, whispering all the poems
I've let in my head
through the back door.

paper... those lines say it all. The rest isn't shabby either! I can't even imagine how difficult it is to separate yourself from your witness. Three thumbs up.

[PrinceMyshkin]

The whole of this is a long, long way from shabby, as Sophia noted, but these lines

to toy with life and death, they say, is to be a god,
but that's just a myth, created by poets
who are too ashamed to reveal their true power

sound as if they were ghost-written by your sister, the Sibyl!

[Buh4Bee]

The whole poem is so great. I love the concept, the attitude, and most important the beautiful language.

My only comment was the line "to toy with life and death" I didn't like the words to toy, it's not the right word in my mind.

Otherwise, bravo!!!

[tailor STATELY]

The whole of this is a long, long way from shabby, as Sophia noted, but these lines "to toy with life and death, they say, is to be a god,
but that's just a myth, created by poets
who are too ashamed to reveal their true power" sound as if they were ghost-written by your sister, the Sibyl!

Or Nietzsche in a similar vein who through Zarathustra added: "Ah, how I am weary of the poets!" LOL.

Beautiful poem. Thank you for sharing.

[Delta40]

Your poem reminds me of my own struggle to tap into my well and draw from it an image that will accurately reflect all its beauty and ugliness. I figure it will be revealed in little drips

[DanBierce]

Fine read, Leaves. The first lines are my favorite. I would think about changing "chilling" to 'chilled,' and "whispering" to 'whisper.' I have a thing about using "ing" as sparingly as possible. Enjoyed!

[firefangled]

This is a beautiful and intimate poem, wonderful in suggesting poets possess a power beyond the gods.

[paperleaves]

Thank you all for your kind words! I appreciate all of your feedback.

love
paper