Wednesday, June 29, 2011

The phantasm of beauty

Plastic and metal, sadly is
this my form for the rest of the
life, unaccustomed to earthly
Embodied in the whispering layers
of time, running faster than my
anticipation, I assume each
day to be a passing bond, slowly
mocking at me, then grabbing the
very part of my beauty, weakening
its terrain.
The large mirror beside me shouts of
the promise to accompany him
till he gets lost somewhere
in the walls
but I am too fragile to even meet myself.
I sleep for a dream to haunt
me, walking over a slope, I fall
and reach the pool of reflections,
the only silhouette tracing me, is of a woman-
hideous, awfully hideous, with melting
skin, and a hanging back. I fear
when the woman comes close, her eyes
talking to me, urging me to run,
but I am motionless, grounded
to my fate.
She stands by my face, so near, as
death, abducting my voice, pulls a ugly smile
and takes me with her.
I wake up to see the sheer beauty
of the ceiling, I once thought to be my
partner, laughing at me, hungrily
as though it was there to solemnize
my sickness.
The stars are vanishing, and I don’t
get a sparkle, I cry to save my
valley, the nurtured meadows, the
tree of unsaid beauty, falling
apart, and I only cry.
Wishing to be out of the phantasm,
It just devours me a more.


lorely said...

"I am too fragile to even meet myself" How true is that... reflective in each of our lives...

Perhaps each of us struggles with our own phantasms of beauty

Quotes,Photos and a little Poetry said...

super poem.. totally get the whole meet one's self in the mirror.

Brian Miller said...

whew some rather intense feelings in this is something men struggle with in our own way, looking in the mirror for significance

hedgewitch said...

Many excellent phrases in here, "whispering layers of time," "the large mirror beside me" (!) "the tree of unsaid beauty" and each adds its note to the somewhat frightening song of this poem. I think perhaps we both wrote about demons this week.

Blasphemous Aesthete said...

Poignant, I feel a sense of suffocation in and out of the dream.

Blasphemous Aesthete

Claudia said...

some amazing lines in here..the struggling..the seeing..the frailty...very intense write monika

signed...bkm said...

Very nice and the playing of time and beauty its earthly stuggle with a always she waits this elder steal us, to devour write that internal struggle so beautifully....bkm