Self Exploration

A Poem by PatrickPink

I want
So badly to be warm.

                But parts of me are frozen; so I bristle
With ice knives and sickles
                And anyone who comes too close
                                Can feel the chill in the air around me.
They scrape against the shards
                Till their surface is painted
                With rivulets of crimson, a delta of red
Saturating their skin

If you catch me when I’m cold
If you feel the glacial radiation from my presence

Please

Know that I am so much more;
That December’s wind must
Always give way
To the breeze who rustles branches in May

II.

                By now, I have
Exchanged each facet of me
                A thousand times over
           The faults, the parts that screeched
Choked with rust
                Or cracked under strain
Have been bundled into tiny cellophane bags

                                And I display them on shelves
                                In the darkest recesses of my head;
                                I’ll take them out from time to time
                                To reassure myself that I have changed
           That I will continue to change
                           That no matter how tarnished I become
I have still made steps forward.

III.

                                Blustery November, and all I want

                Is to find a quiet corner of this burnt out city

           Where the ashes of my past whisper in the wind

Coating the streets and alleys in a thin film of memory

That must be scraped back to see the stonework underneath.

                                But for every brick and branch I recognise, a thousand nooks and

Crannies have appeared, breaking the lines of familiarity

           Making a tattered mosaic of my memory;

                The edges flutter in the gusts, as though any one might strip

The whole sheet away, and leave me with a blank slate

© 2018 PatrickPink

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Reviews

Coyote Poetry

I like how you make the language come alive.
" But for every brick and branch I recognise, a thousand nooks and
Crannies have appeared, breaking the lines of familiarity
Making a tattered mosaic of my memory;"
Mosaic of my memory. Powerful words. I could write a epic poem from. Thank you mark for sharing the amazing poetry.

Coyote