Punishment

When using, you are not the same.

That sublimity of an altered state,
you are not the same.

Do not talk to me about faith or
the hierarchy of trust. Do not bring
the slow jibes of your bright desire
into my house of sorrow.

I'll lock all my windows.
I'll bust all the light bulbs.
I won't recognize your voice
calling mother through the door.





Poetry by Lisa Zaran
Read 1187 times
Written on 2011-01-06 at 22:18

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John Ashleigh
Dark, but honest. A real poem.

Regards,
John.
2011-01-08


countryfog
I am blessed by four children, all grown now, who never went through this. I don't know what I would have done had it been otherwise . . . reading this makes me even more grateful that I didn't have to find out. This and your earlier poem are painful, but incredibly important, to read.
2011-01-07



Who is punishing whom?

It isn't hard to see the pain behind this poem.
It's vivid.

jim
2011-01-07