Craven

Hidden within those crumpled sheets
scribbled over congealed frozen meals
concealed cleverly under by-gone revelry
nearer to nothing and entombed in memory
the finality!
the banality!
exit stage left to muted applause
unseen hands draw the curtain closed
familiar thoughts
dissonant chords
buried now in a brown cardboard box
close beside that patiently vacant plot
the futility!
the stupidity!
beneath us and forever between us
your final words I never heard
because I am a coward
and you knew me too well.

11 thoughts on “Craven

  1. The sad places we take ourselves to…

    Whatever part of you stays in that box,
    there are those of us putting our hope in what had the faith to walk beyond it…

    Liked by 2 people

      1. You’re welcome 🙂 I hope you’re having a great Sunday my friend. Also I have to add I love the name clucky bastard by the way for the clucky bastard post. The poem is so beautiful and the name of it just drew me in haha. You really have a way of drying us readers in

        Liked by 1 person

      2. I had a great Sunday, I was able to visit some friends plus my nephew and niece so that was wonderful. And I’m glad you liked the title, it seems like being a bit quirky with naming pieces works well for me… 🙂

        Liked by 1 person

      3. Aw that’s awesome. I’m glad you got to spend some time with yoir loved ones. It’s so valuable the time we spend with loved ones these days. I hope you have a great rest of your week. Yes, quirky works very well for you !

        Like

  2. There’s this residue to being that clings in softness but seems like a swath of horror. Have you been near a great blaze, Scrunch?, those wind-spent cinders, opaque, unlike snowfall, but terribly soft, impalpable. They are… smooth emblems of annihilation.

    My father and I, well, we felt that softness before each time we met. It was a strenuous existence; let’s say the hue of my smoke wasn’t a colour he saw to enjoy. I don’t wish to make this too maudlin; this poem, in some way that is foreign to me (since I’m as good at analysing poems as I am generating them), reminds me of an entablature etched with Gods casting themselves onto the infinite palate of words, and symbols, and wounds. Of how all that is the tip of our worth, and, for seconds and merely seconds, pendulating, the very pith of our miseries. That hollow cage, that dead twin firmly gripped inside those glassy eyes of others, those sundered prophets of the self. I always miss him. Sometimes, at night, I wake up feverish, and am reminded of the flavour of his poison, his dominion.

    We know not what to do with ourselves, at times. We write, we suffer.

    I know this was super odd for you, and I’m sorry for that, but thank you. Really.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. No worries and thank you for your insightful and thoughtful reply.
      A weird parallel to your words, one of my stronger memories of my grandfather involves setting a large bonfire alight. The fire had been built over an entire mature gum tree that had fallen over in a storm, and we had piled other waste wood and debris on top to form a huge mound of fuel. Over several days it burned under my grandfather’s supervision until there was nothing left but for that powdered ash which you used to create that sublime metaphor which applies directly to the theme of this poem.
      I think your analysis has hit closest yet to the meaning I was trying to put into these words. This poem is about my grandfather’s passing, and his final words to me which were to express disappointment that I had not found god in my life. I tried to tell him all the other lessons he had imparted but while his body was failing, his mind was still keen and he saw right through it all. It created some difficult and contradictory emotions, but as you say, we write, we suffer.
      Anyhow, many, many thanks again for your kind words and for following my blog!

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Scrunch, I was already following you, but recently got a bug and got my list entirely wiped!
        You’re one of the few blogs that I knew the URL of and could go re-follow.
        I also have some strenuous and sad relationships with hereditary (and cultural) divinity, and I feel you on that front. I’m yet to be able to write clearly about it, though.
        Anyways, I hope you have a great week!

        Liked by 1 person

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