Am I here?
Or just a dream within your fantasy
Besmirching your peaceful night of lullaby's and songs
Do you create me
To hold me
Touch me
See me
For the pleasure you want to feel1
Are you awake?
Or am I the tortured past you flee from
The enveloping mist that disappears so fleet
A vapor of wind that rustles
Through your already tormented mind2
Are you alive?
Merely waiting for the final breath
To release you from the pain
To join me in exultant bliss
To reap the reward
Of the tattered and ripped pieces of my soul3
Can you hear?
Through the decaying clouds
They are waiting for you
To join in joyous rapture
Release from your prison
That gilded cage of what others think
To be who you are
Left alone with
The fragments of your mind4
I read those words every night I went to sleep. They were written on the wall and I stared at them often before I fell asleep. The letters of each and every word was written in a panicked rush of crayon. It was as if someone had tried to write it down before they were discovered. Before someone could wash it off and they would be lost forever.5
I had nothing better to do each night, so I read and re read them. To myself and out loud, sometimes screaming them so all the ward could hear me. Ad they did because I got a smattering of applause and cheers when I finished. 6
I knew they had no idea what any of it meant, after all we were all 'loonies' in here, no one knew anything about anything except me. I knew exactly what it meant. The fragile mind that had been locked up here before me obviously was completely innocent of whatever atrocities they accused them of and now they were venting their rage on society with the power of a crayon. Well they never let us use a pen because it was a sharp implement and we may hurt ourselves.7
I almost chuckled as I thought about it, Lord knows we could eat the crayon and make ourselves sick but beware the inmate that decided to stab themselves with a pen!8
At least I could lie here at night in the relative calm,after the nurses had fed the patients their medication and the screams and cackles had been dulled from the afternoon cacophony, it was almost peaceful.9
I didn't really belong here, my mind was far too supreme an intelligence to be cooped up in this hell hole and I was assured that if I was a good girl maybe I would get out for an afternoon in the fresh air of the garden.10
Until then I kept company with myself and the anonymous poem, my eyes darting over it, backwards, forwards and sideways. Analyising it, scrutinising it yet knowing it may have been written for someone else but sure that it's hidden meaning was for me, personally.11
I wished I had known about it when I cut out his heart, I could have recited it to him and then he too would have understood. Never mind, too late now and anyway he was probably too stupid to have got it, complete lack of intelligence. I always thought Fathers' understood their little girls? Oh well maybe the next one will be better........12
Author notes
My imagination running away with me I'm afraid! I know it's supposed to be prose but paranoia works so well with poetry. A little poetic licence please! Ok I will add some story to it below just to appease the noisy Gods!
A contest entry
- Two Options by HisOneTrueLove6107.
175 points, ended January 27, 2007, 4 entries
• next story in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 9 of 9
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I liked the transition from poetry to prose - the two parts merged well together, connected yet separate. I think this is a lovely write. It's nice to see a poet and story-writer in one.
Good luck writing and cheers for the read!
Nocturne -
Paranoia.... A wondrous thing
Rather than give a full review as I usually do with lots of details and scrutinizations,
I'm just going to bookmark this story. Not something I do often. -
Wow
This was awesome. I love how you tied the poetry and the story together. It made sense to me, anyway. -
Intriguing
Enjoy both the poem and prose. I like the way you started each stanza with a question. Dark and intriguing. Interesting how the reader in the story identifies with the writer.beginning: 2, language: 2, plot: 2, ending: 1, characters: 1.
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Eh.....
Well... I kind of asked for stories... so I'm not sure how much luck this will bring you in the contest, but it was a meraculous poem. I also didn't reconize any of the lines I had asked for in the contest because I'm almost positive you did the first option.
Lullabybeginning: 2, language: 2, plot: 1, ending: 3, dialog: 1, characters: 1.
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DarkLullaby1079
I have added story to the poem, just to appeas the rules!
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Wow!!!
Wow!!! At first I didn't know what to think and then I thought maybe you were talking about God. Really kept me guessing. Good imaginery.
beginning: 4, ending: 4.
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are you real??
Or just a dream of my fantasy
Besmirching your peaceful night of lullaby's and songs
Do you write for me
To grip me
show me
even help me
For the emotions you want to convey
Are you real?
Or am you just a pigment of my mind
The enveloping mist that makes talent and good seem so real
A vapor of wind that helps
Through your already tormented mind
Are you alive?
Merely waiting for the final breath
To release you from the pain
To join me in exultant bliss
To reap the reward
Of the tattered and torn pieces of my soul
Can you hear?
Through the decaying clouds
They are waiting for you
To join in joyous rapture
Release from your prison
That gilded cage of what others think
To be who you are
Left alone with
The fragments of your mindbeginning: 5.
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AWESOMESS! I really like it cause it reminded me of that one time tommy told us we're all just figments of Kate's overactive imagination...
sometimes i think they're all figments of my imagination....but in the end, from time to time, the prove to be real. like when they do stupid stuff that i woundlnt have made them do anyways, great poem, and i want to read more of kentucky rainbows
~Aurora
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