Broken Bottle

It’s like a broken bottle, my feelings for her.
The damage has been dealt; the question now, is how to clean it up.
The glass is sharp, it could very easily slice open my fingers, and draw blood.
But it looks so beautiful there, strewn across the hard concrete of my heart.

The light catches each piece just right, making it shimmer and glow.
Hundreds of shards, big and small, minor and major.
I have yet to move, I remain standing above it all, until I feel the coldness of the wind.

I kneel to one knee, next to my hopes and dreams, next to this, this person I’ve cared for.
If she could only understand, the love that flows from me.
I thought it would be safe in this bottle, safe enough from the outside, and all it’s cruel endeavors.

But no, I was wrong, very wrong.
How could I let this happen, I’ve always been so careful with…with everything.
That’s It!
My mind, I got lost in my mind, again…damnit!
I thought to much, waited to long, was too indecisive.

I was too afraid of making a mistake, to afraid to take a chance.
And what happened, nothing, nothing happened because of my hesitation.
Now the bottle is broken, and she’s gone.

Wow, you messed up this time buddy.
But wait, there has to be a way out of this mess, there’s always a way out.
Ahhh, yes, there just might be, this mind of mine.
It may fail me sometimes, but damn, it’s nice to have it at other times.

Yes!
Good job, I tell my head.
I’ve found the broom, the broom to sweep this up with.
But the dust pan, that’s another story.
She took it with her.

Hmmm, lets try this, I tell myself.
Sweep the broken pieces of the bottle; push them all into a pile.
Down on my knees already, I lean over the pile.
I say goodbye to my hands, and begin the incredibly slow process of picking up each and every individual piece with bare fingers.

Where to put the pieces, that’s easy.
Piece by piece, I fill my empty heart again, with the feeling I’ve been missing since she left.
The task is long, and difficult, but I finish it with pride.
My fingers are a gnarled collection of bone, flesh, and blood.

Heh, look at that, I’m human after all.
I stand up, my hands dribbling blood, but my heart…full.
Strange, I could bleed like this forever, but I’ll never loose the feeling again.
I turn and smile.
Looking into the sunset, I walk, towards the grassy, peaceful meadow, so that I can write poems, about her, and never forget.

Beautiful.
Very near to prose I'd say, but the form is fascinating.
And I like the imagery, glass, broomstick etc...
And the conclusion is very deep and true and shows great sensibility, like most of the rest anyway.

Even if it's maybe a bit long, I'd cut maybe some bits in the middle (from 'but no' to 'other times'), they seem to almost interrupt the imagery to show some considerations that are 'weaker' than the rest as for poetic forms (I mean, they're thoughts, but not on the same line as the rest, in my opinion). Of course it doesn't mean it's bad, it can be OK even leaving this, just my taste... (and I know how hard it is to cut bits of poems, even when I think they sound terrible I just can't...;))

Very good job anyway! :) :) :)

Quite a gorgeous poem, darktiger. I look forward to reading some new stuff. Like Koa said, the imagery is brilliant. You make amateur poets like me work even harder to perfect my craft. ;)

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Originally Posted by Rotty1021

Quite a gorgeous poem, darktiger. I look forward to reading some new stuff. Like Koa said, the imagery is brilliant. You make amateur poets like me work even harder to perfect my craft. ;)

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Let's see some of your poetry, Rotty.

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Let's see some of your poetry, Rotty.

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I don't know if I'm ready to post any of it yet. :-?

Thanks to those of you who took the time. This is possibly the easiest thing I’ve ever written, it just came out, it was like breathing, and I’m glad it wasn’t sour smelling. ;)

Rotty1021, no worries dude. I’m nothing near perfect with words, just do your best, nobody’s going to flame you for it.

"The damage has been dealt; the question now, is how to clean it up.
The glass is sharp, it could very easily slice open my fingers, and draw blood. "

These lines are a poem by themselves! I love them, and I think they are the strongest part of the poem. / Isagel

rotty....post your stuff, there's nothing to loose, you are anonymous. and chances are, you have written poems that the thousands of people here can relate to. so enlighten, if not all, or even some, just one.