White Torture

how i feel alot, i'm sure most of you can relate on some level

 

Once upon a summer gray

And dry and hazy

There was a girl who had a dad

Who loved her dearly

And a mother too

Nothing was askew

Her brother the soldier

Went off to fire upon

The people burning in the

Desert at the center of the world

But prayers were answered

He came back alive

And a hero

 

She sat on the porch

And poured her soul out

Her eyes and into a little

Polaroid that was her

Most valuable treasure

Taken last fall in

A dingy sleazy greasy spoon

By a smoky shady waitress

Who drank between orders

 

It showed her and another

Who were both up

To their knees in something

That was all in their

Minds but they felt

It around their legs and

In their hearts

And that night their

Food was cold and their

Drinks were warm and their

Spirits were low

And it was the best

Memory either of them

Ever had

 

Switch to a mythical

Maiden in a secret

Grotto with water so

Crystal clear and so

Pure and perfect and skies

So bright like gems

That had lights inside them

Who wades through the

Tepid pool and feels

Nothing at all

 

So she goes about her

Little affairs for a

While, but can’t keep

Up such a draining

Routine for long

So she wanders a little

Too close to the edge

And slides down a

Precipitous cliff

And screams as she

Free falls and she

Realizes that this

Was the first time

She ever used her

Lungs to get

Something out of

Her that she

Didn’t want in there

Anymore and for

A moment all is well

 

So that pretty

Southern girl with

That happy family

Sitting on the porch

Of the comfortable

House in the

Beautiful field in the

Heat of that simple

Wonderful Southern summer

Straining her ears

To block out the

Ever present buzz

Of the cicadas

All around her

Put down her

Metal pipe just

Long enough to

Use her lighter to

Melt the picture

And distort the

Scene into something

She would never

Recognize as part

Of her life, but

For years she still

Kept that burnt up

Polaroid in the middle

Of her Bible as

A hidden bookmark

That she wrote all

Her secrets on

And she called it

Art and didn’t

Let go of that

Ruined piece of

Plastic celluloid

Until she was old

And cold and alone in

Some deep dark winter

Place up north in

Her twilight hours

Looking back on

Her life and seeing

That she was a

Maiden in a pool

In paradise and she

Never found her

Waterfall, and that

Thought gave her comfort

As she fell asleep

And dreamed of the

Paradise she would

Now spend her days

Hating

Author's Note

please give honest feedback. thank you!

Reviews

[Sabine]

This poem's title, White Torture works exceptionally well with its 'off the ledger' feeling to meet the poem's greater context. A great read-- as well as-- a whirlwind mind trip. Sabine*