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I. Him
There were kaleidoscopes hues
on the broken windshield
and I was lost in the display:
eyes saucer wide that lost their spoon
a long time ago, watching the movie
flick in those fiber fragments.
Images of my shaky hands
clung onto a chap's trousers
and skin shavings littered the dashboard.
I'd rather cry my eyes out at the image of Christ
being whipped with a barbed scourge
in the Mel Gibson's Passion
then see my husband's brain scatters
on the hood of the vehicle.
"Jesus is a regret that doesn't--"
give any justice with my mind stuck
on that last cheeky comment and limbo.
Distant ringing began
long after the cracked webbing frame
swallowed my husband's convulsing body.
( He smelled like cockroaches
and McDonald's recycled grease ).
His skin was clammy in my grasp,
but even with my mind was still stuck
back in motion picture land,
the credits to his life had already rolled.
Pasted on the cracked window,
my Xerox color-copy counterpart kept
gazing in anticipation for a sequel
to ruin the blockbuster hit of
the evening.
II. Her
God was a screwed-up director that evening;
his cigarette clouds parted so streaks
from the half-moon unveiled a wailing babe
in the rear-view mirror behind me.
rinnng-- wah!--WAH!
The ringing cleared from my ears,
letting the child's howls kick in my mother's instinct.
My outstretched fingers dove around
to the blubbering babe--
just out of reach when the seat-belt
strap tightened around the baby's neck.
The dead five month old
is the perfect premiere poster then;
eyes shut innocently and body bundled
in sugar pink fleece.
My eyes were wet black spiders
of mascara when the shock wears off,
crawling off my cheeks and into my lips,
tasting of salted disappointment
and watered-down disbelief.
I wasn't ready when Mr. DeMille did
his close-up to my puffy cheeks.
My unbelieving expression
seemed to portray a bed-wetting realization
that I just had a near-death experience
but it seemed like any other dramatic cinematic scene;
I was the leading-lady and only one alive.
III. Myself
I was in the car for three hours
when a car finally whooshed by
and saw the broken rail,
crunched and mangled.
They called 911 and soon paramedics came
onto the set to dismantle the props,
carrying me from a scene of carnage.
Heaven decided to say "cut"
when my glazed eyes see one thing
that is planted in the windshield;
the Oscar winner on the red-carpet
frightened and alone with the
ambulance lights like cameras.
Flashing brightly, capturing me
with the roygbiv spots hanging in the air.
- by iAethereality |
- Poetry And Lyrics
- | Submitted on 09/01/2009 |
- Skip
- Title: ROYGBIV in the Windshield
- Artist: iAethereality
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Description:
This is a very deep poem for me. I lost my husband and five month old daughter six years ago. This piece has taken me a long time to compose and understand that even though you have somethings one moment, you may not have them a moment later.
Thank you for any feedback you give. - Date: 09/01/2009
- Tags: roygbiv windshield
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Comments (3 Comments)
- x_iiSnowflake - 02/10/2010
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This poem is one that truely touched me. I'm sorry that you had to go through this. On the poetic side, this composition is one of the most amazing poems I've ever read. I love how you put it all into a perspective of a movie in the making, and God was the director. Because I suppose in real life, that's how it really is.
You're amazing. This is amazing.
But I'm so sorry for you loss. I've never had to experience something like that, but I can't even imagine losing my husband and daughter. - Report As Spam
- 1_marissa_17 - 11/30/2009
- this is a beutifull poem
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- 100Arceuslover - 09/20/2009
- I'm so sorry! I really feel bad for you and I know how you feel! 5/5
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