10-26-2015, 07:36 AM
Edit #2 (long overdue - if only work did not get in the way!)
At the edge of the woods.
"Lock me up."
She held out
wrists upturned,
as my arms built a prison
that would never hold her.
Beyond the final tree
stood a gate in a wall of stone.
We pressed our faces to the bars.
This was as far as we could go.
Had she asked, I'd have lied.
It was honour that stopped
us rattling the cage,
picking the locks
and daring the bolt
to wriggle free,
so the hinges might groan
their grudging consent.
Looking back, one truth I see.
Our souls died at that gate.
Avoiding the eyes
of a blind horizon,
our inaction cultured
a creeping infection.
Behind us voices
teased tiny promises.
Singing lies of summer
that might yet last.
We grasped for that moment
but blood, once-fired, quickly cools,
leaving goose-bumps alone to stand to attention.
Without admitting
defeat, we returned home
to tame fires burning in our hearths
and those who love us simply.
Comfort. Survival. No blaze
like the summer we sought
and froze upon finding.
Fall descends quickly in those woods
and the frost bites harder than any we've known.
Edit #1
At the edge of the woods.
"Lock me up."
Her eyes offered
wrists upturned,
as my arms imprisoned
but never truly held.
Faces pressed to bars
of a gate in a wall of stone;
here is as far as we can go.
Had she asked, I'd have lied;
it was honour that stopped
us rattling the cage
and daring the bolt
to wriggle free,
so the hinges might groan their consent.
One truth; looking back,
we died at that gate.
Avoiding the eyes
of a blind horizon,
our inaction cultured
a creeping infection.
Behind us voices
teased tiny promises.
Singing lies of summer
that might yet last.
That moment we grasped
but blood once-fired soon cools,
until only clock hands point skyward.
Without admitting
defeat, we returned home
to tame fires burning in our hearths
and those who love us simply.
Comfort. Survival. No blaze
like the summer we sought
and froze upon finding.
For the fall comes quickly in those woods
and the frost bites harder than any we've known.
Original post
I am finding this one tricky. I want to tell a personal story which is then making it hard for me to be effective in self-editing. It may be that it just does not work, so any thoughts and feedback would be very useful at this point. Thanks!
The Lyme Grove
"Lock me up", her eyes
Held out wrists upturned
As my arms built a prison
That would never hold her.
With faces pressed to bars
In a gate set in stone;
The perimeter of our world
Of thirty metres square.
Here is far as we can go.
Had she asked, I'd have lied
It was honour that stopped
Us unpicking locks, vulnerable
To trespass and escape from within
Yet four hands never rose
To rattle the cage and dare the bolt
To wriggle free
So hinges might groan in condonance.
Behind us voices
Teased tiny promises
Singing lies of summer
That might yet last
For a moment we clutched
But blood once-fired quickly cools
Until only gooseflesh
And clock hands point skyward
So the breakout failed
And we died at the gate
Avoiding the gaze
Of a blind horizon.
With friendship uncertain
On paths not walked before us
Our inaction cultured
A creeping infection.
Without admitting
Defeat we retreated
A slow march, conjuring
From our mouths masks
Of rationality; each ensuring
The other was watertight
While denying the sink-
Holes opening in our chests.
We returned home to tame fires
Burning in our hearths
And those who love us simply.
Comfort. Survival. No blaze
Like the summer we sought
And froze upon finding
For the fall comes quickly in those woods
And frost bites harder than any we've known.
At the edge of the woods.
"Lock me up."
She held out
wrists upturned,
as my arms built a prison
that would never hold her.
Beyond the final tree
stood a gate in a wall of stone.
We pressed our faces to the bars.
This was as far as we could go.
Had she asked, I'd have lied.
It was honour that stopped
us rattling the cage,
picking the locks
and daring the bolt
to wriggle free,
so the hinges might groan
their grudging consent.
Looking back, one truth I see.
Our souls died at that gate.
Avoiding the eyes
of a blind horizon,
our inaction cultured
a creeping infection.
Behind us voices
teased tiny promises.
Singing lies of summer
that might yet last.
We grasped for that moment
but blood, once-fired, quickly cools,
leaving goose-bumps alone to stand to attention.
Without admitting
defeat, we returned home
to tame fires burning in our hearths
and those who love us simply.
Comfort. Survival. No blaze
like the summer we sought
and froze upon finding.
Fall descends quickly in those woods
and the frost bites harder than any we've known.
Edit #1
At the edge of the woods.
"Lock me up."
Her eyes offered
wrists upturned,
as my arms imprisoned
but never truly held.
Faces pressed to bars
of a gate in a wall of stone;
here is as far as we can go.
Had she asked, I'd have lied;
it was honour that stopped
us rattling the cage
and daring the bolt
to wriggle free,
so the hinges might groan their consent.
One truth; looking back,
we died at that gate.
Avoiding the eyes
of a blind horizon,
our inaction cultured
a creeping infection.
Behind us voices
teased tiny promises.
Singing lies of summer
that might yet last.
That moment we grasped
but blood once-fired soon cools,
until only clock hands point skyward.
Without admitting
defeat, we returned home
to tame fires burning in our hearths
and those who love us simply.
Comfort. Survival. No blaze
like the summer we sought
and froze upon finding.
For the fall comes quickly in those woods
and the frost bites harder than any we've known.
Original post
I am finding this one tricky. I want to tell a personal story which is then making it hard for me to be effective in self-editing. It may be that it just does not work, so any thoughts and feedback would be very useful at this point. Thanks!
The Lyme Grove
"Lock me up", her eyes
Held out wrists upturned
As my arms built a prison
That would never hold her.
With faces pressed to bars
In a gate set in stone;
The perimeter of our world
Of thirty metres square.
Here is far as we can go.
Had she asked, I'd have lied
It was honour that stopped
Us unpicking locks, vulnerable
To trespass and escape from within
Yet four hands never rose
To rattle the cage and dare the bolt
To wriggle free
So hinges might groan in condonance.
Behind us voices
Teased tiny promises
Singing lies of summer
That might yet last
For a moment we clutched
But blood once-fired quickly cools
Until only gooseflesh
And clock hands point skyward
So the breakout failed
And we died at the gate
Avoiding the gaze
Of a blind horizon.
With friendship uncertain
On paths not walked before us
Our inaction cultured
A creeping infection.
Without admitting
Defeat we retreated
A slow march, conjuring
From our mouths masks
Of rationality; each ensuring
The other was watertight
While denying the sink-
Holes opening in our chests.
We returned home to tame fires
Burning in our hearths
And those who love us simply.
Comfort. Survival. No blaze
Like the summer we sought
And froze upon finding
For the fall comes quickly in those woods
And frost bites harder than any we've known.