in my kingdom are many, many thoughts all clamoring for attention at once
Fractious Children
Fractious children gather at my doors,
Knocking on walls, peeping through keyholes;
And if I open to one, they would all rush in
Like the wind rushes by, on some panic-blind day.
And then depart precipitously, like a wallcloud swirls,
Or a storm of dry leaves falls to the ground,
While leaving behind an intangible something,
Which says look, things here may have changed.
No thing's the same, as the minutes before:
And you surely know, you must have changed too
As you slowly step out, of the corpse of the old
And move toward the new doom, uncertain as ever.
Frank Lambert
This uncertainty drives many things, change for one. I wonder what we'd be with certitude? Another fine, reflective write.
This uncertainty drives many things, change for one. I wonder what we'd be with certitude? Another fine, reflective write.
Sandra Martyres
I agree with all the last two lines are killer in this very familiar feeling piece...
I agree with all the last two lines are killer in this very familiar feeling piece...
carol
last 2 lines perfect ending
last 2 lines perfect ending
Fay Slimm
"No thig's the same as the minute before" - such sagacity, and ending a poetic look inward that provokes us all.
"No thig's the same as the minute before" - such sagacity, and ending a poetic look inward that provokes us all.
Kerry O'Connor
You have used an excellent comparison in this poem - I'm sure many readers will instantly relate. I find the final 2 lines to be most powerful of all.
You have used an excellent comparison in this poem - I'm sure many readers will instantly relate. I find the final 2 lines to be most powerful of all.
My goodness. Where do I start? And there are 570 more of these to read? If they are all this well written can't I just buy the book? I agree with others here regarding last two lines, but think perhaps these corpses are layers.There is certainty in that there is an endless supply of corpses; notions needing to die for the certainty of truth to be felt a little more each time. All the voices calling (your fractious children-love that phrase) are the precious reminders of the center of the onion. Without their call, we wouldn't care or care to protect. Them, ourselves. There is certainty running through all these words, because the children who knock and the voices that call don't change. We change to look with different eyes and hear with different ears these broken and dissonant heralds. We cannot bear not to know more about these messengers so are quite willing to die as many times as it takes to reconcile ourselves to them. Just my own reflections on your piece. I may not be on your page with my response but it certainly inspired one.