Anne S. - Words
Anne said 'be careful with words',once spoken they're meant,
but when swallowed they're burned,
blazing through your neck -
bruising the one facing you;
She said they're impossible to repair:
like eggs - once cracked -
no glue will hold them together.
But life is now, and words -
are waters you can't hold down -
always meant when said,
and it's the moment that counts, isn't it?
Anne said: be thankful for every morning
when you can hear the kettle whistle
and when the chapel of eggs
is standing before your eyes,
waiting to be touched and eaten up;
be thankful for the fingers
touching your body every morning,
for not all fingers are able to love,
some are even drained with poison.
She said be thankful for the little things
and then went and died,
as if death was something important..
Where did her gratitude go?
Words are miraculous little beings:
like seeds blown from trees,
Or fathers - talking without understanding
what they left behind or injured;
Once a part of something serious -
Most importantly a part of something!
Now - ripped off, and lost in the air -
flying through dust, at it's happiest
when not restricted;
Acting as beautiful healing powers,
curing scars and making promises,
We forget that words and actions
don't share one family tree;
Anne wrote 'be thankful' for the laughter
heard in the house each morning,
for it's made out of bells and little wine bubbles,
and this kind of music will stay with you forever;
There's joy present in all - she said,
and considered suicide hour after hour;
Words are bruises, they come and go,
and the memory is never enough
to bring forth the voice;
Some say be thankful for the little things
And then cut their veins open in the vertical line
As if death was something important;
Words are traitors of the worst kind -
soothing the pain, stabbing in the back..
Poetry by FrancescaLuca
Read 1274 times
Written on 2007-05-04 at 15:46
Tags Words  Death  Annesexton 
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