Swallowed up, inside me like a
bumble bee with wings plucked off,
dressed up in pretty little words and
packaged up in prison bars, manacles,
and dropped, face down in a never-ending
series of twists, turns, and forgotten passages.
What we see, what we see,
is the undying faces of those
we've lost; what we see, what
we see, a reconstruction;
placed under glass, & perfect.
But what is perfect, it isn't real,
it doesn't grow, it doesn't break
& bend, it has no new voice
to break the silence; it offers nothing,
other than a hollow echo to
transfix the mind, and hold captive
my heart.
YOU ARE READING
Please Don't Touch
PoetryPlease Don't Touch is my first self-published book of poetry, written and published originally in 2012. #51 in Poetry, 3 June, 2017 #85 in Poetry, 4 June, 2017 #108 in Poetry, 25 May, 2017 #136 in Poetry, 26 May, 2017 #149 in Poetry, 24 May, 2017 #1...
