[poetry] blended work (worksafe non-erotic)

[sinsual]

writers note: this is a blending of a published piece called EDGE by Sylvia Plath(in bold) and images that went through my mind as I read her piece.



The woman is perfected
sound echoing, side numb
Her dead
face within my mind

Body wears the smile of accomplishment
her hand pushes me away yet her
The illusion of Greek necessity
eyes beckon me to join her

Flows in the scrolls of her toga
I see my hideousness reflected in her sorrow
Her bare
as tears flow down pale grey cheeks

Feet seem to be saying
my body lifts from the ground
We have come so far, it is over
floating as if ash in the breeze

Each dead child coiled a white serpent
her blood upon walls
One at each little
string trailing from her finger

Pitcher of milk, now empty
the sound of a rose filled the air
She has folded
my veins felt cold

Them back into her body as petals
the ground stretches its fingers to touch me
Of a rose close when the garden
its embrace warm within the fog

Stiffens and odors bleed
her auburn hair turned crimson
From sweet deep troughs of the night flower
as she flowed away

The moon has nothing to be sad about
it is not yet time my son
Staring from her head of bone
her voice soothingly speaks

She is used to this sort of thing
my mother is again gone from me
Her blacks crackle and drag
or so I thought