Damaged

You sang a song of eternal sanctum
Beneath a sliver moon of hope renewed
I discerned your mother’s voice, as it passed
Like an Olympic torch, to your daughters,
In their first, unsteady hymns -
Sometimes, growing old, we begin to
Realize the painted walls that we adored
Are really those of exile

Love is a freight train of possibility,
Interspersed with grain and granite dreams -
Churning full velocity, you can’t command
Its halt to avoid the rocks ahead

With the seasons, we heap our mounds
Of expectation - sometimes pulling rip-cords -
Sometimes, emergency brakes, to find they are
Man-made and subject to human flaw -
You sang a song to overcome the
Emptiness of weeping echoes,
The caverns of hollow promise - those
Stalagmite daggers of damage wrought

by Kelly Vinal

Comments (5)

'Realize the painted walls that we adored Are really those of exile' You are good..........
Excellent meters, loved the stalagmite daggers, wonderful poetry. Thanks for the read, L&T
Each stanza is so well crafted and a thought in it's own right they could stand alone. Combined they are even more powerful.
I love this poem, right to the point and full of truth...
There are many thoughts in this piece that have touched me. Thank you for the simple complexity of this poem.