My memory is a Polaroid picture left in the sun.
The scene is discolored and warped,
and I’m left with only an abstract memory
as if I had heard the story second hand.
But in the language of my heart
the events are crystalline.
I scaled the wall of a nervous sheer cliff,
and climbed toward the mountain top revelry.
My fingers gripped the walls with such intensity
that the rocks crumbled in my hands.
Just as I thought I had lost my hold,
and all I wanted to do was hide,
you said yes.
I made my way through the emotional spectrum,
in the time it took us to sway from left to right.
Do you remember when we danced?
A well-written piece and really gripping. I like it so much. I rate it as a 10+++
This is a delightful piece, Hunter, which expresses the intensity of passion and the fear of rejection with a wonderful use of metaphor. My only criticism is the repetition of the word 'memory' in the first stanza - it jars somewhat. Might I suggest that you change 'memory' to 'image' in line three. Otherwise the first stanza is superb. Your Polaroid image in particularly is highly original. Love, Allie ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
My memory is a Polaroid picture left in the sun. Very Nice Indeed - 10+
this is beautiful. the first line really gripped me and you write fanastically <3 10
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
this on eis a marvel and so captivating.... you got the stuff in you... dont let the flame go out.... read my poem called ' they say you are dancing '