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Literature Text
i remember the shape of your body,
the curve of your back as you slept.
you reminded me of
a human and perfect machine.
the curve of your back as you slept—
always too sacred to touch,
a human and perfect machine
that my mortal hands would soil.
always too sacred to touch
and yet you never told me
that my mortal hands would soil
your skin and hair and body.
and yet you never told me,
in all the time we spent,
your skin and hair and body
had belonged to someone else.
in all the time we spent
the words you were speaking
had belonged to someone else,
another man i would never meet.
the words you were speaking:
empty, hollow as if
another man i would never meet
had shot me in the heart.
empty, hollow as if
my heart was breaking, and if he
had shot me in the heart
it would hardly have mattered.
my heart was breaking, and if he
and you had run away,
it would hardly have mattered
because your heart was only a machine.
and you had run away
and it did not matter
because your heart was only a machine,
it was nothing but wires.
and it did not matter—
your heart was cold—
it was nothing but wires—
metal ran in the wires.
your heart was cold—
it was made of steel.
metal ran in the wires
of your skeleton and veins.
it was made of steel,
it was cold, the machine
of your skeleton and veins;
cold like winter, for some reason.
it was cold, the machine
you reminded me of,
cold like winter— (for some reason,
i remember the shape of your body…)
the curve of your back as you slept.
you reminded me of
a human and perfect machine.
the curve of your back as you slept—
always too sacred to touch,
a human and perfect machine
that my mortal hands would soil.
always too sacred to touch
and yet you never told me
that my mortal hands would soil
your skin and hair and body.
and yet you never told me,
in all the time we spent,
your skin and hair and body
had belonged to someone else.
in all the time we spent
the words you were speaking
had belonged to someone else,
another man i would never meet.
the words you were speaking:
empty, hollow as if
another man i would never meet
had shot me in the heart.
empty, hollow as if
my heart was breaking, and if he
had shot me in the heart
it would hardly have mattered.
my heart was breaking, and if he
and you had run away,
it would hardly have mattered
because your heart was only a machine.
and you had run away
and it did not matter
because your heart was only a machine,
it was nothing but wires.
and it did not matter—
your heart was cold—
it was nothing but wires—
metal ran in the wires.
your heart was cold—
it was made of steel.
metal ran in the wires
of your skeleton and veins.
it was made of steel,
it was cold, the machine
of your skeleton and veins;
cold like winter, for some reason.
it was cold, the machine
you reminded me of,
cold like winter— (for some reason,
i remember the shape of your body…)
Suggested Collections
"The pantoum is a form of poetry similar to a villanelle. It is composed of a series of quatrains; the second and fourth lines of each stanza are repeated as the first and third lines of the next. This pattern continues for any number of stanzas, except for the final stanza, which differs in the repeating pattern. The first and third lines of the last stanza are the second and fourth of the penultimate; the first line of the poem is the last line of the final stanza, and the third line of the first stanza is the second of the final. Ideally, the meaning of lines shifts when they are repeated although the words remain exactly the same: this can be done by shifting punctuation, punning, or simply recontextualizing."
FAIL. SO. HARD.
I was experimenting with new fixed poetry forms and OHGOD. I wrote the first half of this, then wrote the end, then had to ramble for six stanzas to make it meet in the middle, so apologies if it doesn't make any sense, or if I repeat myself. A lot. All the time.
I dare anyone reading this to try it themselves. If anybody can write a good pantoum, I will buy them a pony.
FAIL. SO. HARD.
I was experimenting with new fixed poetry forms and OHGOD. I wrote the first half of this, then wrote the end, then had to ramble for six stanzas to make it meet in the middle, so apologies if it doesn't make any sense, or if I repeat myself. A lot. All the time.
I dare anyone reading this to try it themselves. If anybody can write a good pantoum, I will buy them a pony.
© 2009 - 2024 austheke
Comments47
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yes, instead of spending the first day of NaNoWriMo writing, i spent it reading writing, a lot of it yours, austheke.
on a totally random note; how did you come up with your user name?
on a totally random note; how did you come up with your user name?