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Like A Child In A Bath Of Knives

Where once a child stood full in wonder

Of a yellow day's caress

And the dark starfield light could

All but relish

In the finite sky.

Surprise in the form of knowing

Each book read eclipsed a question

Heard not answered

 

As the poor drugs of poetry

Did little to benefit query

Just left the grasp half collapsed

Between lost and drowned.

 

A poem yet written

Not this one, no

 

But a

Typical everything poem

To finally reveal impressions

Of rejected childhood logic

 

To drag the child in us

Kicking and smiling

From deep in the fire

To rest gently, mouthless

In a bath of knives. 

◄ A Priest For Our Time.

Future Smut For Cardboard People ►

Comments

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Isobel

Tue 13th Mar 2012 15:55

Yes - this is one where I can follow the reasoning - or at least find a meaning that makes sense to me in it.

Would agree with others on the title. That is a very shocking image - but one that is not altogether incorrect at times.

darren thomas

Tue 13th Mar 2012 13:48

Hi Kealan - I agree with some of what's been said earlier - i would be tempted to change the title to simply 'Like a Child' - the poem's last verse is great - and you have a natural talent/gift for writing poetry - that should be nurtured.

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Laura Taylor

Tue 13th Mar 2012 09:06

I found the imagery of the bath of knives both compulsive and overwhelming - but I think the latter is more to do with my personal history.

I struggled with some of this, the first 5 lines in particular, but identified with the overall implications in it.

'mouthless' - that last verse is incredible.

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