icarese …

Behind a screen, ultraviolet
penetrated only pale exposure,

could not reach her world beyond
dark glass where destruction
retained meaning
and secrets did not spider
across wall or ceiling.
Still, she would not talk of them,

how their brush-tip regularity
repelled sleep, made waking cruel.

Days crawled, rest-less, marked
only by feint sun-blind myths
less brutal than real life.
Beyond shivers no-one penetrated
hers, where love retains shy meaning.
Still, she cannot speak of this.

4 thoughts on “icarese …

  1. gjl says:

    The phrase “brush tipped” is bouncing around in my head after reading this one. That, and the conversion of “spider” into a verb. I like it. I really like it.


    your response has soooo made me smile .. thank you, friend …. yayyy for conversions, eh??


  2. Paul says:

    Hello, you are amazing.


    i.think.you.caught.my.breath.speechless. thank you … i’m just me is all, Paul …


  3. wow. you had me after spider. and these ”
    how their brush-tip regularity
    repelled sleep, made waking cruel.”

    really give this poem so much punch. it makes it stop. i can’t tell if the lights went out or back on or what but something happens there. its a very well written poem.


    oh my, Sarah – you found the heart of this poem that ranges through my very disturbed/disturbing child to adulthood … bless your heart .. and i never knew if the lights went out or on either *wry grin … you brilliant you! *huge hugs *


  4. Paul says:

    Absolutely perfect. You will probably say oh no it’s not finished but I will say that is perfect, Shell, so meticulously made intelligent original and real. Creates shivers it is so precise.


    *heh .. about the not finished thing … LOL .. Your comments are a pure thrilldelight, Paul, and i’m smiling hugely that you saw and felt so much …. … shivers, eh? that’s gooood … i really wasn’t sure it was going to do that, though i hoped it would … thank you for recognising the “how” of this too … so thank you, thank you, thank you …


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