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Monday, April 8, 2013

NaPoWriMo - Day Eight

Okay so. NaPoWriMo. Prompts are well, designed to prompt you into writing. Today’s prompt worked. Kinda. It prompted me to realize that I have absolutely no talent whatsoever as far as working in iambic pentameter. So with that said, I’m deviating from the prompt for the first day, which is disappointing to me, and yet not.


I will always see you
standing so quietly on that shore
with rapids breaking around
your ankles like some liquid glass
both cutting
and bleeding into memory

spires and crosses
of our past, hovering over us, judge
and jury to all that we’ve ever been
and our angel standing tall as she gives
her closing argument
fingers curled tightly, trying to
hold on — to keep from crumbling
into oblivion

“some fusion in which we
would both disappear” is how you
once described it, but I can’t see fusion
I see instead our angel, beautiful and monolithic,
a testimony to what is real
but yet unable to endure, unable
to withstand the white heat of ageless
sunrise, and the pelting of rain
slowly breaking away, crumbling
into indignity.

The sun slowly falls–
shadowing hands
sliding away until only
fingertips touch
before that last sliver
of sunset breaks through
before dying.

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