It wasn't the first time
that it happened to me
but I died again last day.
So they had my body
autopsied to know the
cause behind my story.
The coroner began to
examine my cold carcass
and discovered something
he wasn't expecting to see.
It was a rare case
they found intriguing
and remained shocked
as they opened my chest.
He could not blink his
eyes of what he saw
within the chambers of
my delicate organ.
Its walls were mottled
with words, veins blocked
with ink and wrapped by
a sac of delicate papers.
He detached one of
the papers and read the
words that said,
i yam eid a dnasuoght
semit, tub lliw eb eb thguorb
kcab ot efil denrub otni
sesha.
Then he told them,
this body is a forlorn
poet, an abandoned
penderecki, assaulted
by his own apoplexy.
YOU ARE READING
Blued Lines
PoetryTo those whose heart has been ripped apart, you're not alone in the boat. If you think that poets write wonderful lines and echoing endings, then you got it wrong because we also get broken and as you read each poem, the sadder and painful it become...
