Spilled Wine
Looks gruesome, actually
Blood-red rivulets dripping down white painted walls
Not as bad, I suppose, as holes punched in drywall by bloody fists...
or skulls
It’s all relative
What’d been bottled up inside came uncorked
Mayhem ensued
White walls bled
Sheltering confines collapsed indented
Walls brought to ruin by ruined souls
Spilled wine cascaded
Blood flowed
* * *
Blood-red rivulets dripping down white painted walls
Not as bad, I suppose, as holes punched in drywall by bloody fists...
or skulls
It’s all relative
What’d been bottled up inside came uncorked
Mayhem ensued
White walls bled
Sheltering confines collapsed indented
Walls brought to ruin by ruined souls
Spilled wine cascaded
Blood flowed
* * *
posted by Jonas | 1/28/2011 10:37:00 PM
4 Comments:
Jonas, your blood is taking a beating. Boiled dry. Spent. Spilled. Flowed. I hope your heart is well. Uncorked is the only way to know if a wine is delicious or unpalatable. You leave it corked and you just might be housing vinegar. I'm trying to let my emotions breathe, and then...pour, not spill as if unintended, but pour. I'm such a corker. It's not healthy.
Please look forward.
I thought at first....it was the relatives. I was knocking down old plaster today. It's always easier to break it down than build it up. But I have to do that too. What a mess. I like your poem. You have a gift which I think would be appreciated by a publication like The Sun. Ever check them out? NO advertisments. Man it's a joy.
Interesting comment, Annie. My heart is OK, I suppose. It has many chambers. Some are dark, forbidding places. Others are full of energy and life. I just kinda wander about. Scare myself ever' now and then. Smile often.
I'm mostly un-corked (half-corked?). But I spill often.
I do look forward, Anna. I look forward, backward, up, down and all around. I write mostly about what I see that confounds me, saddens me, challenges me. Happiness? Yeah, I gots that, too. Not much need to pondercate on happiness. It just is...and that's more than enough.
Thank you, Yvonne. But I'm no poet (nor a writer). I simply put thoughts into words as pixels. There's no method to the madness. Just thoughts, feelings, words and pixels.
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