Your Poetry Dot Com - ascension.

Array ( [sid] => 104822 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => ascension. [time] => 2005-09-01 03:00:24 [hometext] => Written August 27. [bodytext] => Quietly, she rises from her bed
taking the utmost of care not to awaken
the invisible soul [not]laying beside her.
Such fantasies – so childish, yet so adult –
proof of her slow descent.
She dances to the window;
five-a.m. frost, like fairies’ breath, taints the cool glass
mobile, beneath her fingertips.
Beckoning, she wakens the wind and the west –
slow to rouse today.
Her hushed, slow Sunday dawns
Teacups filled – the sugar bowl o’errun with a(u)nts
those of the vengeful vein.
Mascara drips; one lump or two? or three or four? or five or six? or seven or more?; more, please.
Thank you kindly – she doesn’t think the universe hates her enough, yet.
The skeletons in her closet play hide-and-seek ‘neath the floorboards.

Time for a new town? This river’s run… wet. [comments] => 2 [counter] => 256 [topic] => 2 [informant] => blackmarker [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 15 [ratings] => 3 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => LovePoetry ) Your Poetry Dot Com - ascension.

ascension.
Date: Thursday, 1st September 2005 @ 03:00:24 AM AEST
Topic: Sad Poetry

Contributed By: blackmarker

Quietly, she rises from her bed
taking the utmost of care not to awaken
the invisible soul [not]laying beside her.
Such fantasies – so childish, yet so adult –
proof of her slow descent.
She dances to the window;
five-a.m. frost, like fairies’ breath, taints the cool glass
mobile, beneath her fingertips.
Beckoning, she wakens the wind and the west –
slow to rouse today.
Her hushed, slow Sunday dawns
Teacups filled – the sugar bowl o’errun with a(u)nts
those of the vengeful vein.
Mascara drips; one lump or two? or three or four? or five or six? or seven or more?; more, please.
Thank you kindly – she doesn’t think the universe hates her enough, yet.
The skeletons in her closet play hide-and-seek ‘neath the floorboards.

Time for a new town? This river’s run… wet.

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