Music Friday Prompt #4 and Wordle #132

Inky sheets bend in flame,

Pages ripe and yearning

Pulled from the safety

Of my still eroding heart.

I promised to die,

A martyr’s sojourn

But none would keep me.

I trip over stillness,

A pebble worn to silk

By the river’s condolences.

I wipe the clay from my hands,

Immeasurable resurrections

Replayed in the transactions

Between moon and sea,

A convulsive tide eating rain.

The shadows wake,

Ruins of crumpled shade

Hopes impaled on reality’s

Bitter black blade.

My child lost,

Within and without

A savior cannot be saved.

132

For

https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2015/08/14/music-friday-prompt-4-queen-of-the-night-from-the-magic-flute-by-mozart/

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8 responses to “Music Friday Prompt #4 and Wordle #132

  1. Your opening line makes me think of an octopus making a mess (of “ink”) in your bed. I’m guessing the sheets get so dirty, you just have to burn them! Maybe the woman is your boyfriend’s lover, and you’re furious.

    Then there’s a girl name Pa(i)ge. Oh wait; more than one. Multiple girls “named” Page. Rip/e and y/ear/ning. Still (unmoving) er/o/ding art.

    My favorite line: “I trip over stillness” … This is SO me. Clumsy like a … fox? I don’t know. Not a fox; foxes aren’t clumsy. What animal would I be? Hmmm, I’ll have to think on that. The clumsiest and most awkward, that’s for sure!

    “A pebble worn to silk
    By the river’s condolences.”

    Really gorgeous. Now I see a funeral. You probably burned up the octopus-girl and then killed your beau in such a way that it looked like an accident. You got away with it, and now you’re being softened and perfected by all these kindnesses … turned into something even more beautiful, refined. This is lovely, really. Only in being beaten up and having our layers stripped off, can we really have our pearls, our core nuggets of beauty exposed.

    Good heavens, I love this:
    “Immeasurable resurrections
    Replayed in the transactions
    Between moon and sea,
    A convulsive tide eating rain.”

    I could just sit in this for hours. Those four lines comprise a poem all on their own.

    But even though part of you is better having exercised power and revenge, at the end, we get the startling addition to the story that you two had a child together. So even though you’re ready to move on/heal/be silk, your child is “lost” … so you crumple again. Your child has always been your savior, but now it’s your job to save him/her, and it can’t be done … because you’ve destroy his/her life by killing the dad.

    I know this has nothing to do with what you’re really talking about; I just can’t help but do this!

    Love this part as well:
    “The shadows wake,
    Ruins of crumpled shade”

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