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Post by Cory Raymond on Apr 28, 2014 13:41:01 GMT -6
Like a second-hand book found trampled on the floor at an estate sale, her pages are folded back upon themselves, over and over, like so many origami birds, without flight, without life,
words trapped inside the creases and folds her clumsy hands made, trying to shape a sanctuary,
refuge somehow turned to jail, home-made solitary confinement with no escape, no parole, crumpled paper birds crushed against the bars.
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di
Newbie
Posts: 3
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Post by di on Apr 29, 2014 6:14:12 GMT -6
Such a powerful poem, I can feel her trying her best to shape her sanctuary, a refuge that became a prison, such a profound metaphor.
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Post by Cory Raymond on Apr 29, 2014 18:33:22 GMT -6
Thank you, Di. Welcome to the forum! Cory
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Post by SweetSilverBird on May 5, 2014 22:55:47 GMT -6
Wonderful descriptive verse here! I am sure that you are speaking for a lot of people who are marginalized by loneliness.
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Post by Cory Raymond on May 6, 2014 9:41:18 GMT -6
Hi SSB,
Thanks for your comment. I feel less lonely now.
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Post by sopphey on May 7, 2014 22:47:30 GMT -6
I don't have much to say, only that I find this poem very very sad.
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Post by Fire Monkey on May 8, 2014 8:15:55 GMT -6
Well written. You have expressed the feeling clearly. Hank Williams once said the test of an artist was that they can make people feel what they feel inside and by that measure, you have proven yourself.
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Post by Cory Raymond on May 8, 2014 18:04:27 GMT -6
Hi Sopphey and Tim,
Thanks for your comments. I appreciate your support! Cory
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