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Thread: A poem I wrote on my phone that took weeks for me to decipher.

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    A poem I wrote on my phone that took weeks for me to decipher.

    The True Colours of a Warrior's Courage

    Leathery grips, weathered and worn
    shaping my claw-torn face reborn
    Hauling it taught with my tourniquet shorts
    gaping in awe at my half-naked corpse

    She weaves her harpoon, to and then fro
    Threads her guitar string, seams left to show
    Zigzags, chevrons, a zipper for lips
    Her pin cushion lullabies, whenever she slips

    (Seeing one's own Tapu-self afore the tangihanga)


    Crises resigned long ago, not residing dormant, but diminishing within the imminence of a one-sided compromise. However, in the despair grows a sincerity, a dignity, and a respect nourished by the memories of others. A bitter-sweet solace takes its place in a seamless transition, as this ethereal soliloquy is finally exhausted by the nature of its own repetition...but never without assuring its wisdom in one final echo to her melancholy ears and she knows, now, that life, like all else, is ordained as a delegate of ephemerality. It is truly a gift we must all love, share, and ultimately fear its one and only requisition (a non-negotiable death).
    Last edited by slipee; 05-27-2015 at 07:01 AM.

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