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Array ( [sid] => 184262 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => Melted Rocks [time] => 2017-06-18 01:12:24 [hometext] => The Soul would have no rainbow had the eyes no tears. John Vancer Cheney [bodytext] =>

I saw my life,
after a time, as a polished piece of glass.
So many years toiling with towel
and rub;
Graining away a childhood
of rape, death and cockroaches;
a thousand rubs until smooth
as a windless summer pond,
the years sold, and I bought,
I looked at my fabrication and even believed
the land I rolled in was sweet and free.

Drugs and alcohol make terrific rags,
wonderful polishes.

But take them away,
and the glass is seen for what it is;
melted bits of larger rocks
beaten by time and man into something it is not. [comments] => 2 [counter] => 244 [topic] => 65 [informant] => invierno [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => toughstuff )

Melted Rocks

Contributed by invierno on Sunday, 18th June 2017 @ 01:12:24 AM in AEST
Topic: toughstuff

I saw my life,
after a time, as a polished piece of glass.
So many years toiling with towel
and rub;
Graining away a childhood
of rape, death and cockroaches;
a thousand rubs until smooth
as a windless summer pond,
the years sold, and I bought,
I looked at my fabrication and even believed
the land I rolled in was sweet and free.

Drugs and alcohol make terrific rags,
wonderful polishes.

But take them away,
and the glass is seen for what it is;
melted bits of larger rocks
beaten by time and man into something it is not.

Copyright © invierno ... [ 2017-06-18 01:12:24]
(Date/Time posted on site)

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Re: Melted Rocks (User Rating: 1 )
by Former_Member on Sunday, 18th June 2017 @ 02:07:43 AM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

Is that true
to think this clear
the winter dear
to remember to glimpse
from the past
to melt away
Or should one stay
frozen and never say

what it means
how it is
to truly speak

to face the fact that there
are none if one wilts
away all their days
alone

the flower with too much water
the vine given up to too much
mold that produces no grape

the grapes of wrath
And for all the hope that was
once sown

who are they
do they know

they call it the rust belt
the rusted waste
with all their belongings
Going nowhere
And without hope

You see if you look
what they need
their inheritance

Their lovely lands

Peace!

Re: Melted Rocks (User Rating: 1 )
by softerware on Sunday, 25th June 2017 @ 01:46:30 PM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

You come to a sad conclusion. The analogy is perfection; the weathering of experience and age as we are polished.
We have hope that we will lose all our sharp edges, and become more at home in ourselves, until the last lines, where you shed the romance of your own words.
The beauty of this poem is that we need not believe you! We note that you have spent the heart of this write in betrayal, eloquently testifying against your conclusion.
And there lies the promise you struggle not to see, leaving the door ajar just enough for us to find the light in your darkness.
softerware

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