#2

Here's a piece of poetry I wrote several weeks ago. It sparked from a family situation, and an article I read for a class about the decline of  marriage, families, and courtship (note: the article is "The End of Courtship" by Leon Kass). Ruth's already posted this on her blog, but I figured I'd stick it up here too, so here it is. It, also, was the product of a fit of insomnia and an itch to write. Sometimes I wish I had more control over when I got that itch, it's rarely at a time convenient to my life. More people should understand what it's like to be a slave to one's pen. :P
The poem's called "Pieces" and is probably one of the best I've written in recent years. Give it a look?
~Nanda

Pieces:

There’re cracks in the façade I show to the world,

Screams shouting silently, yearning to be heard.

But I’ll play my role a bit longer.

There are shattered sharp splinters of broken-down heart,

Piercing through the costumes that keep them in the dark,

But I’ll stitch up the tears a bit longer.

There are tears running silently down the walls of my soul,

Longing for the day they burst forth, break a hole,

But I’ll bottle them in a bit longer.

There are words yet unspoken, lurking there in my core,

Waiting deep down inside, for the day they’ll spill out,

But I’ll keep them stored up a bit longer.

There are moments of sadness, of grief and of pain,

There’s no time to deal with them, to watch them spill down a drain,

So I’ll shore up the dam a bit longer.

There are tiny, twisted, terrors that peek through my eyes,

Trying to show the world I’m pretending, that it’s lies,

But I’ll blink so you miss it a bit longer.

There are nights wasted sleepless, unable to dream,

Circles beneath my eyes are not just what they seem,

But I’ll cover them up a bit longer.

There are days when the mask I wear slips from my face,

When I look as I feel, tired and failing in the race (to look okay),

But I’ll wear my mask a bit longer.

If there’s an end to this tunnel of darkness and hurt,

Where the pain should all stop and the words not seem curt,

But until then I’ll hurt a bit longer.

There’s a hope springs eternal, or so I’ve been told,

Where grace heals up the wounds that until then bleed cold,

But I’ll stop the bleeding in place a bit longer.

There’s a place where the scars of what’s happened so far,

Fade into the background and don’t show somehow,

But until I get there, they’ll show a bit longer.

There’s a time when this struggle will end in a draw,

When everyone’s lost and they’re at the literal last straw,

But I must not be there yet, it’s a bit longer

But to make it there, I must last a bit longer.

God is it close? I can’t do this much longer.

© Ananda M. Boardman 2010