A splintered fence—
pin-strung and puckered mouths,
plucked,
the roses are dying.
Messiah strokes their ranks, steps between
the feather-lipped heads to inquire,
What mortal needle sows stem to soul;
what mortal needle can fix this foul hall?
Tree tosses hair back like flirting woman,
woman sitting fingers clawing over flowers
drawing blood and beheading the roses.
The Messiah progresses, sniffs his desire
and breathes—
hands to neck like branch to trunk
— out.
Prostrate wind in lament, saying
that even Jesus must kill for beauty.
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140,699 Literary Works • 673,672 Reviews
Oh my god, I love this!
This is fantastic. I love all these metaphors like, "Tree tosses hair back like flirting woman"... but do you mean "women"?
The last sentence is so ... Wow. It stays with you long after you finish reading the piece. I can't grasp the meaning of your poem but I really want to spend some time rereading and dissecting this.
The meaning could be more clear, but just the way the language flows together is pleasant enough even though it doesn't cling to any particular story or meaning(at least not one that I can follow).
In some places, it didn't seem to make much sense to me. I'm sure if I read it a couple more times, I'll find some meaning. I really like this poem, probably because it sometimes doesn't make sense and it makes me think. Great job! Keep up the good work!
wonderful (no time to crit, sorry!) *claps*