Joel Pickett Joel Pickett
Recommendations: 16

Him, a satire. Me, a poem. I love it.

Davide Castel Davide Castel
Recommendations: 39

Me too! You must have a psychedelic imagination Shaunna, for your words are literally, 'Out of this world' so to speak. You have that quality of originality, WHICH STANDS OUT. That's a compliment.

Shaunna Harper Shaunna Harper
Recommendations: 35

Thank you very much Lucy :) that means a lot!

Please login or signup to add a comment to this paragraph.


Add comment   Close
Shaunna Harper Shaunna Harper
Recommendations: 35

Metamorphosis


Share this writing


Link to this writing



Start Writing

More from Shaunna Harper

Letters From 213
The Elixir
Sapphire Lips
Cold Compromise
The Slaughterhouse

More Poetry

Deborah Boydston Deborah Boydston
Recommendations: 45
Murder in the Senseless
Leoni Carlson Leoni Carlson
Recommendations: 12
Expressivity
Aaron Greene Aaron Greene
Recommendations: 30
Author's Clog
Leonard a. Wronke Leonard a. Wronke
Recommendations: 23
JUST BECAUSE
Kitchera Hicks Kitchera Hicks
Recommendations: 11
soul mates

We jumped from the night and
fell into the moon
upside down
in fractured dreams.
He told me
if I could picture it,
I could live it.
Reality is a broad market.


He came with golden eyes,
silver lips, quilted with satin
like the finest-dressed mannequin.
His puppet fingers
dealt a card; a blow, hard.
I wept with despair.
The Lovers, it read,
the world darkening
around his hair.
What does it mean,
I said.


We made love
through the storm,
wrote about it.
Him, a satire.
Me, a poem.
He lit a fire,
but it burned blue.
I waited for him to say
I love you,
but he dressed himself
in frantic black,
walked out,
never came back. 3 comments


My desperate skin fell off,
stripping like cracked paint;
a whisper, a cough
and I crumbled.
There was a tinge of pain
in every act of sin,
love, lust and shame,
my burden heavy enough
for the two of us
but conveniently made for only one.


I tinkered with the tarot
deck he left behind
for me. Every night,
I unveiled my destiny.
The Tower.
Outside, thunder.
The hour slipped like sand
in a glass timer,
the moon crying into the sea,
dust drying up the sun.
The animals sing songs for me.


Locked into my metamorphosis,
I wait for the card of the Lovers,
burning for my virginal kiss,
clutching at my covers.


I send letters to the rain,
my heart dissolving like a pill
as the flood sends my words
over the hill
and back to my ears.
There are too many years.


Link to this writing

Share this writing


Next: Each Time We Part