Charcoal Heart

Count the threads in the carpet alone on the stairs

Hoping someone would find me wallowing there

Come lift the burden weighing on my shoulders

The pain has gotten worse as I’ve grown older

In the end it’s all moot

Because I was broken from the beginning and forgotten from the start

No affection could even repair this charcoal heart

 

Count the minutes in boredom until the end of class

Voices only timid noises and murmurs that pass

Provided me with no viable tools of construction

But rather reinforced this perpetual dysfunction

In the end it’s all moot

Because I was distracted from the beginning and confused from the start

No lesson could ever ignite this charcoal heart

 

Count the threaded stitches tied against my face

A memory of what once could hold itself in place

Stared and wondered if some truth could be found

In the pools of blood that polluted the ground

In the end it’s all moot

Because I was defective from the beginning and scarred from the start

No thread could ever heal this charcoal heart

 

Count the days since I elected to be left alone

The absence of missed calls on my telephone

Wonder if my mind had been wired another way

Maybe I would never have driven her away

In the end it’s all moot

Because I was solitary from the beginning and silent from the start

No one could ever hear this charcoal heart

 

Count the vials of pills adorning the table

Praying for respite or the will to be able

To either fix this pitiful life or say goodbye

Too old to start over but too young to die

In the end it’s all moot

Because I was frail from the beginning and pathetic from the start

Its time to silence this charcoal heart

 

Reviews

[Sheila Kline]

Such a sad story, but told with good insight, and ability to explain feelings........sorrow, hopelessness, no tomorrow, pain too great for a charcoal heart. Now, that charcoal must be rubbed with a soft tissue to smooth the rough edges, and give it more definition! It can be done. No heart must remain a charcoal one!
Sometimes it must be smudged to be become one of more beauty.
Good write, and I like the way you repeat the phrase at the end of each verse. It is also a format that I often use to carry a story line through the poem.
Sheila