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I preened through summer,
pale emotion nonexistent,
white nose regality.
And I was ever insistent
in my shallowest affections,
a blue death-cap
immobilized. My
mouth did howl, my hands clap,
this perverted desire for exclusion.
If I died,
would my apathetic conflict
live on? Having lied,
would my post-mortem truth
astound? I’m pretending.
I fancy myself done for;
my hormones, softly blending,
cause my change in season.
Can the winter hold its own
as a goddess? Or paralyze
sweet autonomy, as it’s known
to do? Snow’s frosty abuse --
sleeping is a chore,
solitary consummation, a
raw hollow carved away to store
the tragedy of cold.

20 Oct 09

Rated 9.5 (10) by 2 users.
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this is a stunning poem.  
the title, the word choice for emotion, the subtle rhymes, just beautifully done.
the title! =-)
and wow, what an ending.  

lines 8's 'hands clap' is the only thing sticking out that i dont get.  i keep thinking it should read 'my hands did clap'.  anyway.........

you have this way of expression that touches me-- you write in a way that makes me hurt a little, for just a few moments, but it's beautiful.

i love this poem,
thank you.
 — jenakajoffer

I like your poem-
well written with ever so subtle rhyme..
 — JKWeb

Thank you very much.
 — ishtarboy300

i am wishing more people will read this, so i'm giving it a little bump.
still loving it.
 — jenakajoffer

Wow!  This is DAMN GOOD!  Lines 21-25 are to die for.  Excellent, excellent writing.
 — PaulS

Thanks, Jena. I'm flattered that you like it so much. PaulS, you're too kind.
 — ishtarboy300

Your writing makes me hurt, too. :) Go Jer XD
 — laura352

I like the hands clap part!
 — laura352

i still love this, even in summer ;)  -jen
 — unknown

I think i like this
 — psychofemale