16 years
written when I was sixteen.
An emotional stream of consciousness after an explosion of questioning: what responsibility does a biological father really have?
16 years belongs to the following groups:
1620 and All Things Poetic, Artistic, PhilosophicalShe gasps in frustration, though it sounds like she is breathing in life as though it might escape her.
‘Why?’ she recites. The answers spill over his lips though they hold false truth.
‘The end and the beginning, they tie so tight’. A single physical manifestation of her grief, then – Splash! it is gone.
No words to hear nor script to read nor dust of newborn history lost.
The excuses continue to pour and pour, her mind is numb and her eyes turn red as she sets fire to a forest which took sixteen years to grow.
These lies, stray thoughts of hers. No excuses were ever uttered aloud.
But as time passes by minute and year her greed and rage were fed by a fuel which never evaporated.
So long – It’s so true! And it’s no-ones fault.
It does what it does, without looking behind and changing the roots. Deeper they grow, and blacker still. Reaching for salvation and grasping only crude honesty.
‘This world is not mine, it is yours!’ She has damned this place, her and her alone. As the fire grows stronger so does the smoke, and it shakes it’s boundaries until they crack, crack, crack.
Tendrils of doubt creep silently through and choke out the idea of knowing what’s right. But was this ever clear? Then and now.
The unknown grew but then she stopped and thought: ‘Did it all stem from this or did I paint my own despair?’ She chooses to believe she’s been right all along, and scribes her resolution in black and blue ink: ‘It’s him. Not me. I brought the sun which was choked by his black, O I brought the branch which was cut by his axe!’
And so she sleeps well as the fire dies down, but the ash yeilds no movement, colour, nor sound. What has she done?
She has damned us all.
Slowly at first we crumble and fall and blue-blooded hearts turn red like the rest as our blood begins to bubble and our skin crawls with knowledge. ‘Choose now’ she says.
But she has already chosen.
She holds the truth and she holds the end. But what can she do?
She has damned us all.
RubyRose
Beautiful. Touching. Language is superb.
I love this piece very much.
You should try poetry for your major work.
xo
Jasmine Moston
This is an amazing piece. The poem made me shudder and get goose bumps.
Truly beautiful.
kaya-ra edwards replied
I wrote this when I was fifteen, then changed it to sixteen years because it suited me at that age too.
I think it was about my dad, not sure.
Angsty hey ? :P