prisoners

This is the sixth poem of the "love" collection. It has been a while, but inspiration just wouldn't come. I hope you enjoy. This one has a kind of hopeless feel to it.

-prisoners-

Your heart is the equivalent of a deathly forest

full of mirrors who capture reflections

of what your soul must look and be like

I transport my mind there, within the green

with the closing of my eyes,

the swiftness of my pen,

the coffee veins and my adrenaline on fire,

the warmth of a stranger's breath,

the shapes of shadows by my bedside table,

and when I lay at last on your grassy ground

with the mirrors all around me but

with my own reflection absent, I wonder...

Is the chivalry real,

the naughtiness, the playfulness, the liveliness?

Is your dark side dark enough

for me to sleep in peacefully?

The gentlemanly jests and mannerisms 

are they real or...

merely actors within an actor's heart?

Yet who am I to talk of hearts

as if I know much more  than the struggling writer,

as if I know much more than the pretty face on the street

For all I know,

bones on our ribs cage our hearts with great ferocity 

for hearts are monsters if fed with other hearts 

There's no forest with one hundred mirrors

No soul whose appearance I can manufacture

No features which I can cultivate into existence 

There are only hearts in cages,

-cages bony and dripped in blood and guts-

for hearts are beasts and

therefore must be put away

so that neither you nor me can eat one another

if by chance or fate's crueler appetite 

we meet...

Author's Note

I literally wrote this in 24 minutes last night, after a long long absence of inspiration. I guess I needed something like a trigger in my life, a little push to fill my mind with ideas. Like I always say, spontaneous writing, don't mind the syntax or the grammar, it means what you want it to mean, it means what I personally want it to mean. This particular one is sadder and a little final and hopeless, I feel. And the gore is not absent as well. I wanted to include gore in my poems for a long time but was not sure of how much is too much but then I thought to myself that the human mind is capable of conjuring up the worst and most disgusting and raw images so why hold back? Please, I would really appreciate if you could review it, well not review it. That is such an absolute word. More like, write me a comment, an opinion, a feeling, ask me a question. You know, friendly stuff. As friendly as it can get online...