The Floor
19 April, 2003
Author: Angelina
The floor is my reality.
Cold and hard, it's the only thing that's really there.
The only thing that exists to me,
always there to fall back upon.
Always do I fall.
The floor clasps me and holds me down.
Never can I get up.
Never will I mend.
Bruising me, it stains me,
Giving me the concussion I fall for.
Always do I fall.
I can't get up.
I won't.
Only to fall again?
There is no reverence in trying to stand.
This tired meaningless life cannot be held.
So I lye on the floor that I used to fall upon.
Never shall I fall again.
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Comments on this poem/writing:
| Stacy (205.188.208.72) -- Saturday, April 26 2003, 05:16 pm Well-expressed. I very much enjoy your poem, likely because I have felt the emotions you describe. Falling is hard and dispiriting, but I have found that each fall only makes you stronger and less likely to fall again. Hang in there and keep writing your way through the hard times:) |
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