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Author Name: Freeborderline_mary 1 Comments
Date Added: August 14, 2013 21:08:22 Average Score: (Needs 1)
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Type: Unspecified
Category: Depression Add To Favorites | Text Only
On the colder days and nights, it was clear
that the lurching of her heart would become soundless,
and the bleeding, blending edges she had thought were despair
would wash smooth in the creep
of the hours.  Every hated breath was hallowed,
and she wished she could run.
She'd yearned to run
since before the worldempty slurring grasslands under clear
sky, up from the navel of a ravine and over rock hallowed
and hollowed by the raintoward home in soundless
steps.  Need would creep
over her, and it was very like despair,
the way in which nothing moved, despair
like calcification, like feeling her insides run
out and harden under the lights.  Eyes could creep
open, others nudge closer, blurry features clear
enough to read the strings of ceaseless, soundless
nonsense on their lips.  Every hated breath was hallowed
when they took her hands, hallowed
like everything they didn't understand and the little hooks of despair
making it hard to speak and so she didn't try, soundless
hours and days and tiny clicking seconds marking the run
of it all.  It was clear
as nothing had ever been, as her own little feet that could creep
across the floor without trace and creep
into every room but all the rooms were dead, hallowed
graves, shrines to her failure, and she could clear
it from memory if only they would let her.  Yet despair
bent underneath apathy, and she knew that even if they would let her run,
she couldn't.  Her passage would be still, starved, and soundless.
For every brush of soundless
air across her skin, every sideways creep
of the ceiling's swinging fluorescent light that would run
through her mind even if she didn't look, every hallowed
heartbeat past the last she deserved, despair
ate a little more of her bones, and nothing, nothing was clear
anymore.  Every hated breath was hallowed
and the tiny, tingling creep of despair
made the clock run slower, soundlessly crashingmade all of it clear.
Author's Notes:
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'Acceptance' Copyright © Jessica Ruth Myr
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Comment By: PremiumDavid Turner on August 19, 2013 12:12:45 PM Report

The sestina format can build up a really powerful set of feelings in the reader if well handled ,as you have done here Ruth.  The coloratura of  poignance and  melancholy in this is very moving.




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