Disintegrated treasure

the way you moved through the door
Like a ghost on the wall
, framed,
Four feet tall
Blamed every ancestor
Outwardly hoping to be proven wrong

But the air still gets cold
Not that you know
It just keeps you sleeping on top of that gold
Now i can just hope that you fight the good fight in your sleep
Wake with an answer to get through the week

Started sleeping in on Sundays
Soliders across some other ocean
catch my sunset so i can sleep
Maybe find a way into your meaning

Relay a phrase in a bottled chest
A dead man, a treasure,
A wayward unrest
Still burning like bourbon and stealing the best from the future i dont know yet
For a flash in the sky for the my childrens interest

Taxed the gospel you wrote
Reading my grandfather's note
Time hands us down on your face
In sciences silent refrain
The seasons seperate the stasis
To keep a slow burning pain

Reviews

[barleygirl]

Not sure what this is about, but I had some definite flashes of insight while reading. "Blaming every ancestor" harkens to those who never take responsibility for their actions or lives. "Sleeping on top of that gold" harkens to those who are so miserly with anything nice, as if it somehow lessens them to give of themselves. "Started sleeping in on Sundays" hit me like a religiosity snooze button, since you use Sunday when many go to church. I don't know what to make of V4, but I love the way it reads -- snappy rhyme & rhythm. In the end, this poem reminds me about my childhood family, many of us victims of years-long abuse, & how some of my siblings cling to that brokenness, huddled together, like they can't let anybody else in & they can't let go of the hurts. They view me as a threat becuz I've thrived despite the abuse & I can write about it without pain, but just like telling the story of my life. It's like they resent that I've moved on from it. I believe some of my siblings that cling to disintegrated treasure are left empty-handed (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[Eilis]

I thought of the disintegrated treasure of the title as the life itself. The things we watch pass by but lack the will or strength to capture.

I really enjoyed the enclosed universe you captured here. I have felt a sense of being in a solitary universe but never quite caught the sense of it in my writing, at least not to my satisfaction. But I felt something of that here. Being but only partly and having some barrier between two parts that is invisible but impenetrable.

May be off base, but that was where your poem-song (it felt like a song) took me. I really like your poetry.