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Apprehensions
by Krystall VegaAn open book
does not lead to learning.
instead,
the dull beating
of my professor's voice
provides a sweet lullaby
for my attention
and an invitation to my worries.
Celestial bodies have tapped
with the horizon many times,
and yet i have no inspiration.
the sun has not been timid
and the flowers have come out
to dance; purple seems to be the vogue.
Enamels of the unenlightened minds
display hope,
this hope i cannot grasp.
And still,
I have no inspiration.
These fragile heartbeats
fervently beat,
although unknown to you.
Instead,
you break them blindly,
with your adulterous eyes.
Our story ended long ago,
but unknown to me.
you stomp along the veins,
waltz with my aorta,
and still I waste this ink on you.
I waste this ink on you. 07/17/2005 Posted on 07/17/2005
Copyright © 2025 Krystall Vega
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Rula Shin on 07/19/05 at 12:00 AM Yes, and still "I waste this ink on you" - it seems worse to know that one is wasting time which amounts to life, than it is to do so without realizing. This piece is quite poetic, the flow is excellent as are the images, and yes the conflict between the present pain and the desire to bury the past is very evident, so too the soft sadness of being so aware of this conflict, "An open book
does not lead to learning.
instead,
the dull beating
of my professor's voice
provides a sweet lullaby
for my attention
and an invitation to my worries" - yes, a sweet lullaby for the attention, putting it to sleep, and slumbering is the time of dreams and it's here we cannot BE who we intend, it's here we are the most fragmented and wasting life by letting the time pass by instead of walking with the time. It is in our slumber that we live in the realm of worries, fears..the realm of emotionalism and inner noise. Great write! Welcome to pathetic :-) |
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