Poem: Sharp Relief


Sharp Relief

The pencils come in sharp relief,
cradled in their Shaker box,
lapstrake perfect, the grain glowing in the sun.

You are not normally a creature of details.
Content with the sense of things,
your eyes sweep a room, never landing, never focused.

Your world is Monet, in darker tones, the details smothered
in swaths of paint and emotion,
the truth emergent instead of clear and sharp.

But not today. Today your eyes soak in details like a starving man,
feverish and tired beyond words, you see a world you somehow missed,
and the world you know, is lost.

About this poem

No explanations. The poem just came. A BYOM (Bring Your Own Meaning) poem.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s