I can take old stairs
A salt from lost tears
Perceiving time as incarnation
Backpack full of fear
When hearing walks Shocks give, tread through hunching spine No conscience raising better judgment Each measured step is weight to mind
It’s me… what has been
Shackles forge at will Self-fulfilling prophecies She’ll hold me, better, still…
When life returns new feeling Home not in her head Travel weary; wrists stop bleeding Want love before I’m dead
____________________________________________________ Would you care to hear me read this poem?
*The above poem is my response to our special James Rainsford edition of the One Stop Poetry Picture Prompt Challenge. Being the awesome artist that he is, James has offered a choice of 6 photos today. Feel free to pick one and write a poem or 55 Fiction (aka Flash 55) based on the prompt you choose!
As always Adam your writing skill is incredible. “Shackles forge at will” ~ I’m actually sort of testing myself right now so I really understand so much that line. Though some may not understand fully the reasons, my reasoning is to attempt to regain focus. 🙂 Anyway perhaps I’m strange but resisting the very element I am so weak to…things I love, enjoy in… ~hard to explain but this has such a strong effect to me in the writing…because I don’t want to fall foolishly and be deceived 🙂 yeah… “want love before I’m dead” ~ I can feel so much emotion in this and you know what, reading it casts a certain light in it too, for me, so thank you for it!
Fabulous response… not at all what I was expecting for this picture: the image of a world-weary traveller trudging up the stairs rather than opting for the easy ride up escalator… That last stanza is a real cry from the heart, felt all the way over here.
love how you start this adam – and love how you end it (and all in between..) – very strong and descriptive and full of deep emotions and longing..is there catharsis in your writing as well..?
rgd. your question…in mine almost always is..
The poem’s focus on the stairs rather than on the 2 “people movers” in the photo immediately gives a sense of trudging forward. Dogged steps seem to shuffle through old lifetimes (as symbolised by the stairs). Powerful!
This really hit home how difficult inner metamorphosis is. You can change, hell, we can all change, but do we ever stop wishing to find that other part of us that makes us want to return home and stop travelling? Multi layered, but hard hitting Adam, photo kind of reminds me of roads not taken. Great write, as usual 😉
Adam, I love how this can be interpreted in many ways, although for me ’twas more of the essence of : I can take this familiar path, the one that I already know, but it doesn’t satisfy me, because it’s stale. I want something more, something to feel, something (or someone) to love and receive it in reciprocity without forcefulness.
Want love before I’m dead. This works from from either perspective of just coming down or preapring to climb, old stairs. In fact the moving steps can ease the journey up or down. Sounds like the MC could use the rest. Great piece. And thanks for your comment.
Fine writing adam, full of what can only be called a measured angst. The little deaths and shackles, one at a time, wearing or slicing at us, the senseless-feeling perseverance, the weight of the past and the present carried on the back–your adjective choice here is just masterly, as is the final line.
It’s amazing that my simple image of a deserted escalator could prompt such an intense and moving poem. Thank you Adam, both for this poem and for organising this week’s photo prompt. Kind regards, James.