Poem Stained Fingertips

"I may have poem stained fingertips but I have a tongue coated with a thousand pins of silence."
A refillable book of every idea and scrap that I can come up with. This will include everything from poems, short stories, metaphors and microfiction.
AKA: a fancier name than the actual word document (Bits and Bobs)

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29. Oh Mother Mercy - Poem

 

Oh, cruel mother mercy let me tell you what it is like to fail.

You have failed from the moment the pen is put down

but you don’t know it yet.

That is denial sticking to the pages

and it makes you wait in false agony.

You believe you have won

and oh boy you are wrong.

Then when you realise the fear steps in,

hot and burning and cloying in your throat.

Next, you cry with such sorrow that you forget how to breathe.

You watch others win and you question the universe

with such anger,

that you do not know yourself.

Then the panic comes and you tear the room to pieces,

a storm has swept through your fingers

and war toils in ripped pages and thrown bedsheets.

You calm and pick yourself up.

But it does not help.

Nothing does until you win.

 

 

Oh, sweet mother mercy let me tell you what it is like to win.

You can’t feel your limbs

and a dance works its way through your legs and across the room.

You can’t dream for the thought of waking up.

Such happiness works its way through your bones

that you light up like a star,

never flickering but racing.

Uncontained and powerful.

Nothing can stop you now,

nor would it dare to.

 

Oh, mother mercy let me tell you what it is like to live.

To take the wins with the fails,

for every small win is a mountain

and every large fail is a suicide fall.

But you pick yourself up

and wait for the wheel to turn.

That is living and

oh, mother mercy you do not have a clue. 

 

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