Oceans of Grasses Grown too High

Shells crushed down to nothing, but in an echo,
there is a soul there on the winter's shore.

I am a woman bloomed too early, who still bleeds
from bullet holes. And here, on the oceanside -
bone framework starved to ashes -
the melody sings back to me, the
beguiling tides of years before.
Will I succumb to the lust of beauty?
Will my frozen eyes still strive to read the
masterpiece? Can I toss this unwitnessed work
to oceans of pills and sanity?

I am a patient sick in their sickness,
ill to the impulses with the thirst for being thin.
In love of purity, I feel well-washed in vomiting.
For what is more holy, the ground or the sky?
We kick our sinners to grubble dirt-piles, but do not all
things grow from it?
No grain grows from heaven but rain, and
the tides have never taken me.

Sand is more precious than stars, my love,
and we have been ground with Jerusalem's mortars and pestles,
down to the shell-less souls that only echo
the screeching of the winds.

At least I am still
weightless.

i am not sure what the subject was, or where it was going. the words used are beautiful. and it is well written. i just honestly did not know what you were writing about. that in no way means this is not good. it was probably just me.

kim

This has potential. I'm actually surprised, upon closer analysis, to find that you have actually allueded to a very complex and complicated many in a very sophisticated fashion. I like how you used brick verse. That's not something you see everyday or much at all anymore. Excellent job at puncuation, however, the flow is somewhat interupted as you open the piece. But you hit your stride as the second stanza comes around and I thought this was a very nice piece, though the tone is less than happy. Thank you for this great piece.

And here, on the oceanside -
bone framework starved to ashes -
the melody sings back to me, the
beguiling tides of years before.

^ nice! I had to read it once or twice, but it was the good, worth-it, type of re-reading ^_^

The only thing I really don't like are the strings of questions. It just seems like they're piling up and then almost cancelling each other out.

Love this part:

No grain grows from heaven but rain, and
the tides have never taken me.

Sand is more precious than stars, my love,
and we have been ground with Jerusalem's mortars and pestles,
down to the shell-less souls that only echo
the screeching of the winds.

At least I am still
weightless.

I wasn't sure about the third stanza (I am a patient sick in their sickness... ); I didn't think it added enough to the poem. But maybe it's because of the questions.

And... that's all I have to say for now. Lovely loveliness, as always, gummy!