unblanketed

this was my entry for Jason's and Stephen's contest named 'uncovered'. entering is now closed.

Jason was sorry not to have found this entry eligible for the contest, qoute: [...] the danger of rhyme is that it's exceptionally hard to make it look natural and effortless. In this poem, phrasings are often bent and strained for the purpose of the rhyme, and that makes the technique detract from the substance, rather than enhance it. The last stanza, however, was superb. You are never short on bravery, Szelsofa, and I have such respect for that! -

i am especially proud of the first part of the last sentence :)))

because i do like experiencing with new formulas.

and Jason's right - at some places the meaning, the sequence of the word gets twisted for the sake of rhyming. which is not a sure sign of good poetry... :S

well, at least i gave it a try....

in the past years i have entered at least four of Jason's contests - this was my fifth attempt i guess. out of the five contests i have made my way into the final fourties only once.

Unblanketed

‘got a bruise on my finger
that may never heal
the pain is set to linger
do you care to feel?

I used to have a wooden box
that I filled with my precious things.
I hid the box under the rocks -
it was the chamber of the kings.

I used to go there every morn’
to watch the marching of the knights -
the glory of their costumes worn
took away my fears of the nights.

I used not to mention my place,
the secret world to anyone
but one kid came, a happy face
my former joyeous life was gone.

He said he liked it – but he lied;
pointing fingers at me, laughter
from the kids as I nearly died -
and I stayed closed ever after.

Closed within walls, safe from the world
silence has become my blanket,
I touched no-one, as no-one stirred
me, nor the peace of my casket.

Years passed by, the mould on my wall
grew thick with age, dry with sorrow,
the flowers of mind learned to crawl
to survive, hope for tomorrow.

One day there was thyme in the breeze
felt like spring, though it was winter,
he offered his heart on his knees
my wall has begun to splinter.