One of those memories of hearts brushing..


Scarred Hands





Your hands

Show no scars

Yet when I try to read your palms

You close them in my face



As if ashamed of them



I try to catch your eyes and

you throw back your shock of hair

and laugh from the depth of your throat

avoiding truth

with serious jokes



and so we stand

eyes finally locked

into our sorrows



had there been snow on the ground

our crimson drops would have blazed a trail

within the virginal whiteness

but we would never step onto that trail again



We already have



And when we eye each other

across the oceans of light

we joke of horses

while longing to be as swift,

and we rub our inner pains

unconsciously on each others backs.



If we touch

In the ultimate way

We may be released



But for now

We satisfy ourselves

With angelic smiles

And eat lesser foods



Not feeding our deeper selves

Starving ourselves

For no reason at all.



Except the fear of being known

By someone else



Poetry by Teddy Donobauer
Read 769 times
Written on 2008-11-10 at 13:00

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Rob Graber
Each of us must live in h/ris own body and mind--this, perhaps, is the ultimate blessing and the ultimate curse. A provocative statement.
2008-11-10


Nathalia
I am no expert critic, I just want to say, I read your words and I thought they really spoke to me.
:-)
2008-11-10