Little Wind Up ~A Poem by Foxemerald
Little Wind-Up ~
I'm interested in you-
But, you never answer my texts,
And yet, I simply wanted to know . . .
Why it was so difficult,
For me to be,
Your thing . . .
Did I have mediocre talent?
Or was I just . . .
Did you ever think that I-
Perhaps, had more than song,
Within the soft folds-
And ridges of my sheik sweater-
Hugging upon the ridges of my,
When I breathed inward?
And that perhaps, you could feel more . . .
Than just my heart's simple beat?
Squished up in my seat this way-
I think . . .
I have faith that,
Extends beyond the matrix,
Of these sandwiched bodies, hot-
And sweaty as they,
Might chance to be, on the NYC,
Predictably so . . .
I sleep . . .
There is no love in my heart.
I am feeling cold.
It's a fathomless, black, empty setting for me within the . . .
Surrounded by the multiple waves of sound-
Voices, that resound,
Bats in a cavern with cantankerous wings,
Rusted and weary, as they . . .
Were once wind up things,
Now forgotten in their dreary state,
A condition which they,
Might have predicted if they,
Has been able to think in,
A broad extent . . .
But now they are, simply,
Things, which fly over,
This cavern's length,
Whistling their tuneless sigh,
A pointless, dreary din-
Echoes of hearts, and love, and feelings which once,
Made 'some sense' . . .
And now, they are simply toys,
With strings and corks that wind around-
And make them zoom around this . . .
Cavern's wide circumference-
They are like the Disney cavern bats,
These silly minds,
That don't really understand the way,
And think . . .
Or anything about the human soul, consisting-
They are simply toys . . .
Toys that squash me,
Into this tiny seat,
From all sides-
From which my mind bursts forth expands, exuding-
Love and beauty,
'Tangible things' . . .
From somewhere deep-
Deep, deep down, in the center of that chamber,
Where still resides,
I have not forgotten this,
That, from which you always flee, I think,
From me . . .
When I hold onto that mindless rabble -
It frightens you to think,
That I am more than just a bat with wings-
Going in some random area.
I cannot see . . .
I couldn't have been just your 'thing' . . .
Because I am so much more than-
Your little wind up.
© 2017 Foxemerald
Added on February 15, 2017
Last Updated on February 15, 2017
Tags: romance; prose poetry
AboutHi, So, I see you’ve found me. Since the excitement and mystery of being the ‘anonymous writer’ has been shorn, let me tell you a little more about myself. I graduate with a Bache.. more..