Join the Neopoet online poetry workshop and community to improve as a writer, meet fellow poets, and showcase your work. Sign up, submit your poetry, and get started.

Internal Organ

i live
within the walls
Iron pressed bones for a floor mat
a bucket of internal organs sitting under the window sill
I live within the walls
A startled guest
a puzzle piece in your direction as they ponder
what a pleasant place I find myself
and such a linger in the air
Can you hear the crying instillation
Can you feel the tiny shards of glass
i live within the walls
and take my mind for a walk
We sit on a park bench and feed crumbs of agony to the ducks
They stick wings down their throats
they pluck skin from flesh to cook their minds
I live within the walls
stabbing splinters inside you as I sandpaper myself
furiously thin
Enough to sigh on the wind and find the shadows back home
I am here
On the park bench with my fingers down my throat
stealing feathers from swans
drinking bile from the pond
I am within your wall
crying with your guest
feasting on your liver
shivering
within the walls
I see myself
within the walls
I see

Style / type: 
Free verse
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Review Request (Direction): 
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
How does this theme appeal to you?
How was the beginning/ending of the poem?
Editing stage: 
Content level: 
Not Explicit Content

Comments

Each single line here resonates with me. Powerfully evocative piece. The most sensitive line that caught my attention is this:
'We sit on a park bench and feed crumbs of agony to the ducks'.
Poignant, heart- rending story! The poem has accusing finger to people who are in authority to help. Especially those who are in polical power. Strong images here reveals a whole lot.

Awesome post always from the publisher.
I handed over your golden fingertips while your pulse beats with the scents of perfumes
As long as your pen is overflowing with masterpieces of letters and lines.
Greetings and my affection with the fragrance of jasmine.

This is a wonderful piece!
.

"Poetic license
gives
the poets
the free will to
embroider a good tale
and deviate from the established rules of language"~Jackweb

(c) Neopoet.com. No copyright is claimed by Neopoet to original member content.