Thursday, March 24, 2011

shrapnel

shrapnel
like

when that irresistibly
delicate
glass ornament
laden with memories
of the bygone
fell off its precarious
perch

unexpectedly

& with a sudden pop
cracked

hopelessly
shattering

a million
little mirrors
were born that night

scattering

years hence
some still jab soles
& toes

making bare skin
bleed

like dark metallic shadow
of dramatic makeup.




Posted by Noxalio at 6:49 PM
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5 comments:

Old 333 said...

For some reason, 'metallic shadow' really pleases me.

Thanks for the poem, Noxalio.

PG

March 24, 2011 at 7:21 PM
Elisabeth said...

Wonderful, Nox, those million little mirrors that still jab, I can almost feel them.

March 24, 2011 at 8:32 PM
lines n shades said...

wonderful... words weaved together so well.

March 25, 2011 at 2:09 AM
Wine and Words said...

Shrapnel and shards have long lives. Love the image of a million mirrors being born.

March 25, 2011 at 3:03 PM
Noxalio said...

thank you Peter, Elisabeth, lines n shades and Annie ...

yeah, careful where you step, no?

March 26, 2011 at 11:16 AM

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