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:icondyrwen: More from dyrwen


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September 11, 2011
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I keep waiting for the moment
to look up from my monitor,
only to find that everything of Hers
is gone
and everything of mine
doesn't matter at all.

I'm lost in a sea of light
as the metal wraps around my torso
and the whole of the world stops
to remind me that I'm going to die
only to let me off at the last moment
upon impact as glass shatters around me
instead of into me.

There's time enough to look right
and see Her lying there unaware
in shock from the impact of the crash,
but I've been trapped in this car
for months
and I can only hope
that now that we've stopped tumbling
end over end
and hit a wall
that she'll notice we're not on the road
anymore.

I climb out and press against old bruises
remembering times when I cared,
frustrations trapped under skin
from the too many times I've tried.
There's nothing left of the car
but she's still unscathed,
as she hoped the whole time
that the car would be okay
and that we could keep on driving
toward some other spot
where tumbling end over end
was not the norm.

I keep waiting for the world to snap back
and remind me that I've been dreaming
but I'm still here at the crash,
waiting for something to change.
I keep waiting for myself to go back in
and see if she's okay
but I don't want to feel that impact again
after years of descent
and pain that I know she's been holding onto
until the moment we hit bottom.
I keep waiting for the ambulance to get here
and take us away from all this.
I keep waiting for the moment
to look away from the wreck
and admit to myself
that I was driving the car,
that my body is broken,
and that I need to climb out.
As a kind of self-actualization before things fell apart, I came up with this poem that started out rather normal, then fell into a heavy metaphor. I feel like I'll put it up here if only so that maybe I can rewrite it into a more proper typical poem, wherein a story happens for the reader, instead of the poet in the poem.

Youtube version spoken here.
:icondancing-treefrog:
Dancing-Treefrog Featured By Owner Nov 29, 2011  Hobbyist General Artist
Maybe the story for the reader is the story happening to the poet in the poem?
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:icondyrwen:
dyrwen Featured By Owner Jan 1, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
That seems about right after rereading it after long enough time has passed.
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