Night Fill Void

[Delta40]

Curtains of hope get shred,
lost to the winds of destiny.
A door slams shut.
The cell phone loses its ring.
Return to stacking shelves
in the supermarket of your heart.
Split open box after box
with a meaningless cutter.
Contents spill freely,
roll down the aisle
toward the empty check out
as if they might reach an altar.
Stockpiles of displaced tins wait,
patient, inwardly desperate,
hungry for a retail resting place.
Lentils,
pulses,
chickpeas.
Anything can be rearranged.
Consumers want a fresh display.
A four bean mix is indelible.
Try to get a signal.
There won't be a reception,
no matter where you stand.

[cafolini]

Great metaphrical description of a personal long journey.

[Delta40]

Thanks cafolini. I'm trying to get back on track with writing

[Haunted]

Delta, something's off here, and that's unlike you.

Somehow the transition from "curtains" to "supermarket" isn't gelling for me, I can't associate the two occupying the same space.

I like the whole supermarket symbolism, perhaps the "door" should be an "automatic door" which fits right in with supermarkets? Those doors are one-way doors, and that strengthens the feeling of being trapped as they snap shut.

Anything can be rearranged seems to contradict Curtains of hope get shred at the start of the poem, not sure if you're going for a sea change. But then There won't be a reception suggests otherwise and it seems going back and forth.

I'm left confused where you are going with this, I'm afraid.

[PrinceMyshkin]

Very strong and imaginitive.

[Delta40]

I guess poetry is always open to interpretation. I suppose when hope is torn, one might flee either inward or outward, thinking we could change, create a new self, as if it might make some difference when perhaps it is mere delusion, a defensive shield or some phase of grief to help us get through the darkest of times?

Thanks for your feedback Haunted and Prince