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Epiphany

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  • Epiphany

    EPIPHANY
    By Alan Stallsmith

    My bedroom. The sight of half empty glass and appetite of full sorrow stomach. I touch nothing and am crushed by everything. The rain. The wind. The silence. I wonder onto the balcony of memories, close my eyes, and jump headfirst.

    Your statue towers over my house and casts shadows upon the walls I've built. I reach out for your hand and touch the sharp end of things you've said. The lies. The promises. The placebos. I wonder down the staircase into the basement of my heart.

    Your eyes haunt the four chambers and tear me into two. I cling to the mirage with red hands and white knuckles. The euphoria. The safety. The inferno. I wonder up the staircase of my mind.

    Your statue's fragments are shattered upon my front lawn. Bitter pill. Agonizing loneliness. Nostalgia. I wonder to the burn pile of my soul, strike a match, and set ablaze your madness.

    I will not allow you to kill me anymore!

    I will not allow you to transform my life into an airless, strangulating deja vu!

    I will not allow your existance to be my woe!

    I bid thee farewell!

    Epiphany as burden melts like butter. The smell of rain! The sound of wind! Silence isn't a bad thing when your mind's been so loud for so long! I always hated the walls that I built around me anyways!

    The sight of half full glass and appetite of an empty stomach. I reach out my hands and touch the freedom on the greener side. The truth. The hopefulness. The joy. I wonder up the staircase of my mind and open the window.
    Last edited by alan650; 01-07-2018, 05:10 PM.

  • #2
    I like how you have constructed this prose poem. To me, it is excellent stream of consciousness. I like how your words jumps from image to image and so all well connected. You seem too young to write this well!!!!!!
    Last edited by Tanner; 01-06-2018, 04:54 PM.

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    • #3
      Incredible beauty here!

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      • #4
        Originally posted by Tanner View Post
        I like how you have constructed this prose poem. To me, it is excellent stream of consciousness. I like how your wind jumps from image to image and so all well connected. You seem too young to write this well!!!!!!
        Thank you very much! I don't think I am too young at 32. lol. I actually started writing poetry in 11th grade. Now I've done it off and on throughout the years. Everyone has been so kind here!

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        • #5
          Incredible word choices streaming through this. Well done poet.

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