Torn

A ripple formed, running cloven
through my still surface.
I did not see his face,
the one who cast the stone.
A fluctuation of emotion causes
shadows behind closed eyes,
An undercurrent of dis-ease
moving surreptitiously inside.
Worry bubbles spawn,
spreading insidious effects.
Aware, logic weighs light,
haplessly trying to balance,
stepping carefully on the edge
of the vortex, not wishing to
return to the past.
Where are the angels now
as I navigate this precipice,
hanging on by my torn fingernails?

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6 responses to “Torn

  1. This is sharp portrayal of violation of individual’s existence. I like the way words are used, not just for their meaning but their phonetics as well. A very pertinent question at end: Where are the angels now?/ As I navigate this precipice,/ hanging on by my torn fingernails. Kudos.

  2. Oh, I quite like the juxtaposition of your emotions and the call to logic here. And your cry to the angels is a wonderful touch…a plea for help, direction…Very nice work!

  3. I think the angels are always there ready to jump in when needed. And especially when things change in our lives, leaving us unsettled and uncertain and struggling to find faith. Heartfelt poem, Abi

  4. wow…lots of tight emotion in this one…not seeing the one who threw it was a key line for me…but the feeling is certainly powerful…hope that hope comes through for you…

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