Sunday, May 15, 2011

Home

Magic planted
down within ten sterling blue toes
jiggling to the beat
of a sunday afternoon.
Alive with silence and nothing
that flows into the subconscious 
of a lonely one
who sighs a cold, regretful breath 
out the window
as a car passes by
playing glass shattering bass.
The driver inside uses the noise
to block out all that is wrong
in the life that owns us so
he closes his eyes
and imagines the girl
with downy black hair.
Laughing and dancing
through shimmering sunlight
flitted with deception 
dazzling eyes of sapphire gold
penetrate the soul of a little boy
-clad in once an angry white
now turned loving black-
hanging off the edge of a fence
waiting for night
to come and consume him.
A flicker of a smile
flashes across his face
reflected in a small pool
of green tinged water
and far away
in a house on a hill
is a girl 
staring out a window
as a car passes by
ignoring her life,
fooling those around her,
and waiting for the end
of the cold hearted
sunday.

-Haley

2 comments:

  1. I love how all the images in this poem sort of tie together! With the man in the car and the girl watching a car from the window, and such.

    And the ending,
    "waiting for the end
    of the cold hearted
    sunday."
    was awesome! Because usually you think of Sundays as warm and happy and eventful, and this was a different take on it.

    Love it! :)

    ReplyDelete
  2. haley--going into your mind is great. Love, "and far away
    in a house on a hill
    is a girl
    staring out a window
    as a car passes by
    ignoring her life,
    fooling those around her,
    and waiting for the end
    of the cold hearted
    sunday." I have lived those Sundays--I didn't think they existed anymore--but apparently they do.

    ReplyDelete