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miyako73
03-30-2013, 07:37 PM
Between my bare soles,
Sweating and callused,
And the hardwood floor,
Mahogany and varnished,
The friction of lightness
Glues my careful tiptoes,
The hesitation of my will
Stops my ghost, my dance.

From the edge of my bed
To the red-cushioned chair,
Limbless and antique-old,
Is eternity in many inches
I slowly count in my head
Like how I run my fingers
Along the expired numbers
Of the calendar on the wall.

Near the double-locked door,
My study table, wobbling,
Three nails less and brown,
Conceals traces of doodles,
Deep scratches, broken lines
Underneath the ink stains
Like bruises, like island maps
Guiding my relentless digging.

On the vast ceiling so white
Is the sad rainbow of grays,
The vision of my tired eyes,
Jaundiced and half-blinded,
Useless in my archaeology
Of hard darkness and solids-
Stale stench of dried saliva,
Memories of tears and rain.

Delta40
03-30-2013, 11:50 PM
You're undoubtedly one of the best, most passionate poets I have read Miyako.

miyako73
03-31-2013, 04:58 AM
Thanks, Delta. Coming from you, that's really something that will push me to learn more and improve my craft.

hillwalker
03-31-2013, 06:56 AM
Love reading this.

My only quibble is your use of the word 'doodle' that's rather intrusive. It introduces an element of unintentional whimsy to what is otherwise a very thoughtful, languid piece of writing.

H

Lokasenna
03-31-2013, 08:03 AM
I love the imagery you're using here - very effective, very moving. The last stanza, in particular, is powerful.