My body is a home poorly built, with age-old moss taking over the exterior. I am in the creaky wooden floors and the cracked sink, which, much adjacent to my legs and arms, has blood in the old but ever renewing cracks. It has taken years for my owners to try to fix these cracks. It will take years to come. But when they will begin to look for what it is that keeps breaking them open, I am unsure.
I am on the dusty shelves waiting for fresh air. Walked on and broken in is the carpet that lies over me. What a lonely view beneath the visitor's footsteps I have!
I have never looked at one of them. Seen them eye to eye, laid bare my cracked sink. And let my eyes like a faucet, run and run.
I have swallowed all the dirt in the air until my lungs have turned black.
Yet my heart beats still.
Echoing in the everlasting black night, the candles in the windowsills by which I see are lit still. They talk to me with no flickering words...
Reminding me that I have yet to go up in flames. And that somehow,
my heart beats still.
About the Creator
Sydney E. Carter
a poet of prose.
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& You Will Write
You're going to learn that in life you will have cuts you cannot stitch together. You will just have to keep replacing the bloody bandages your whole life. It will be less about making it in the world and more about making it through the night. There are people who will love you and people who will hurt you more than you ever thought you could forget, but in time, you will move on. It will be so bittersweet. You will one day learn that it is only survival to move on. However, there will be some people you will never be able to forget. No matter the time, no matter the distance or reason. Like walking on splintering wood, you will carry pieces of them in you, and you may forget that it's there. But sometimes it will ache so bad that you try and try to dig under your skin to figure out just what keeps hurting.
By Sydney E. Carter6 years ago in Poets
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