death: a poetic thesis

at the edge of mapped decision
my sorrows resided inside a
moment. each sounded to simulate
scabbed hearts- the thrum of death.
salted wounds and broken earth, wince.
I gather my mortar and pestle,
crushing this susurration with
flex of hand and carve petroglyphs,
strange mosaics, without
exit. at the berm of stone
i stare into murky depths of
mud and pull away my hand.

I stopped by The Poetry Collaborative last night and used their starting and end words to create this poem. I added a few lines in between the words they gave me to make it blend better.


christine said...

A beautiful elegy, Michelle. The imagery of stone throughout, and earth, gives the poem a mythic feel, especially because the narrator carves into the hard surface. Really nice.

Cynthia said...

Oh, Michelle, this is excellent.

You sustain the tone of resigned
heartbreak for a life lived less
than full.

J.C. Montgomery said...

I was trying to pick out one part that stood out, but I couldn't - the entire poem is so moving. Thank you for sharing it. Hugs to you.

Lirone said...

Some very powerful phrases here - the scabbed hearts, the salted wounds and the edge of mapped decision. Did you consider putting the first few lines in the present tense like the rest of the poem? I felt that that might have brought greater immediacy to the poem. Great stuff though...