Patchwork Heart

by creativityrules

  • Poetry
  • Other

Published May 4, 2012

In Poetry

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I call to the sunshine that dapples the trees,
that flickers and shudders with every breeze.
I ask for tomorrow, a wonder, a sign,
for some quiet token to say you're still mine.
I sing to the river, to its murky depths,
and ask why my heart isn't fully healed yet.

The scars, they don't cover, they don't go away.
They scream and they mumble, they inflict their pain.
Not friends but not traitors, they are what they are.
No, even the strongest can't stand without scars.

On chests and on fingers, on wrists and on hands,
the nostalgic wounds coldly wreak their demands.
You think you'll forget us? You think that you're free?
Well, try to be happy. We dare you. You'll see.
Yes, we'll let you smile. We might let you sing.
But when you're alone, we won't change a thing.

This life isn't perfect. Yes, I have my guilt.
My heart's made of patchwork, a pitiful quilt.
And every few moments, I wince and I pause
as I am reminded of my torture's cause.
But I am a human. To scream is to live.
At the end of the day, we all get what we give.


Comments & reviews · 1
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alliyah
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alliyah commented Comment · May 12, 2012

Wow, I really enjoyed reading this poem. You had alot of nice sentence orders, it added a variety to each line. The rhyming was nice too, especially the interesting rhymes like "depths" and "yet".

I didn't see any spelling mistakes. I would suggest flip flopping "fully healed" to "healed fully" so that fully is also rhyming with "murky". That would make that line flow better. You might want to change the "fingers" to face or something else because you already have "hands" in the 1st line in the 3rd stanza. I'm also not quite sure what you mean by wonder in "I ask for tomorrow, a wonder, a sign." "wonder" just doesn't really fit.

You did a really great job with the last stanza, and the message that all of us have scars, and being human we have to get through pain to live. Keep writing, thank you for sharing your poem!

~~Ally-wa



I was flummoxed by fractious Franny's decision to abrogate analgesics for the moribund victims of the recent conflagration. Of course, to display histrionics was discretionary, but I did so anyways, implicating a friend in my drama to make the effect cumulative. I think a misanthrope would have a prosaic appellation, perhaps one related to autonomy and the rejection of anthropocentrism. I think they wouldn't think much of the prominence of watching the coagulation of tea to prognosticate future malevolent events, not even if those events were related to jurisprudence.
— Spearmint