A rope in hand he made his way,
To the midst of the forest around his thoughts,
A step and a stop as he unfolded inside;
Crumbling with the lies he told his mind.
I'm tired, was his catch phrase.
Instead he meant I'm dying.
I'm okay, he said.
In his heart he cried, I'm tired.
Which in turn still meant,
I'm dying.
So as he set down a rock,
A memory appeared.
Of a time when life wasn't so hard.
Of a time when a broken smile was closest
To any sort of pain inside.
Oh what a time, alas, what a memory.
He set another rock,
His heart did clench.
Many tears he shed,
Enough to sprout new life he thought.
He no longer valued the unsteady rhythm of his pulse.
It was unsteady for a reason.
And behold
The last rock.
He mounted before he could have a thought.
What a double edged sword life is,
And the bitter sweet taste that lingered,
Unwanted.
The rope, knowing what came next,
Was but a humble servant,
And when the noose was made
A few threads came apart;
The rope's way of sympathy.
For this wasn't a first.
The man bowed his head and stepped off the rocks,
A smile to his face as his eyes rolled back.
'Camille'... a name the rope knew all too well.
amazing....well thought out and deeply symbolic lines... great work dear poet well structured and well planned lines... they force one to wander in the jungle where his mind resides... liked
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
incredibly well written and powerful imagery, what heartache and sad feel between each line, but with great rhythm and pace to keep me hooked until the end, fantatsic!