Array ( [sid] => 115656 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => The Box [time] => 2006-03-01 19:34:34 [hometext] => This is one of those things that I would typically keep to myself, if not completly ignore, but I started writing, and this is what came of it...so...always, abraham [bodytext] => It is in my understanding that the misdeeds that haunt my past cannot be absolved.
It is my nature to be guilty. My guilt is who I am, and it is my greatest downfall.

Do you remember the insides of the sky
as the stars and the sun passed by,
do you remember the clear, open air?

When I visit you, you always smile and hug me and ask me if I'm still writing.
I always say, "Of course, why would I stop?"
I visit you, and you take me into your home, and you offer me a couch or a bed, a cigarette, a beer.
You look at me with those broken, brown eyes and it all bubbles up, all the things I felt for you, all the ways that I could make you cry.
And I wonder why .

I still remember that box; the impact, the sound of it shattering beneath my foot, the way you looked at me. I wish I could shut it out. I close my eyes and think of all the good things that have happened to me in my life, and they are all nothing; nothing compared to one moment of brutality, to one moment of anger and violence, to a little plastic box and the shattering of mild brown eyes in the Arizona sun.

I suppose I shall never show you this. I am afraid of the consequences of your reading. I am afraid that you have forgiven me. [comments] => 1 [counter] => 205 [topic] => 48 [informant] => iodinelove [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 7 [ratings] => 2 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => EmotionalPoetry ) Your Poetry Dot Com - The Box


The Box
Date: Wednesday, 1st March 2006 @ 07:34:34 PM AEST
Topic: Sad Poetry

Contributed By: iodinelove
It is in my understanding that the misdeeds that haunt my past cannot be absolved.
It is my nature to be guilty. My guilt is who I am, and it is my greatest downfall.

Do you remember the insides of the sky
as the stars and the sun passed by,
do you remember the clear, open air?

When I visit you, you always smile and hug me and ask me if I'm still writing.
I always say, "Of course, why would I stop?"
I visit you, and you take me into your home, and you offer me a couch or a bed, a cigarette, a beer.
You look at me with those broken, brown eyes and it all bubbles up, all the things I felt for you, all the ways that I could make you cry.
And I wonder why .

I still remember that box; the impact, the sound of it shattering beneath my foot, the way you looked at me. I wish I could shut it out. I close my eyes and think of all the good things that have happened to me in my life, and they are all nothing; nothing compared to one moment of brutality, to one moment of anger and violence, to a little plastic box and the shattering of mild brown eyes in the Arizona sun.

I suppose I shall never show you this. I am afraid of the consequences of your reading. I am afraid that you have forgiven me.

This poem is Copyright © iodinelove


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