Of the SelfA Poem by MacHuman Frailty: found perfectly in the confines of a mirror. The deep, solemn eyes of a Grandmother, her aging lines spread out like butterfly wings. . . The sunken sockets of a teenage boy, bloodshot veins carrying drunken thoughts to a headache. . . The hollowed impressions of a curious child, wild in their maturing endeavor to understand. . . The face of a man who hates, the face of a man who has poured, to the last drop, every ounce of his being, to love too much; The face of a man found The face of a man lost, wanting to be found, unaware of his own thoughts; The face of a woman scarred, smiling The face of a woman soon to be, melancholy. . . it withers like the drying spring in fall, is reborn again like the fallen spring sun, it lies back like summer swing-sets and shivers in the frigid snow banks of winter. . . the skin, a sudden jolt of reality, much rougher than its glassy counterpart; the throat holds a throbbing heart and a petrified torso stands more captivating than the last pages of "The History of the World" it is the inconsistencies of a would-be perfect world, an ellipsis to something
© 2015 Mac |
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Added on February 6, 2015 Last Updated on February 6, 2015 AuthorMacConway, ARAboutI went to college for Creative Writing, of which I did not finish. I now write in my free time in hopes of one day publishing my work. One of the fears I have to face is making an online presence - .. more..Writing
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