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As a real beginner around here, I have a question-why is this called just a "poetry" forum? What's wrong with prose? Of course, I suppose no one wants to read a whole novel, but I read sometime smaller pieces of prose which can be more poetical than poetry itself (thinking about Book of Mercy, for example).
Anyway, since this is a poetry forum and since (like most everyone) I want to express at least some of my very "precious" ideas and feelings, I'll try my best; but I wouldn't manage to make a rhyme for anything in the world (and especially not in a foreign language) so sorry if my poem will be a bit "prosaical". So, here it comes...

Slowly, gently, I open my palms in front of the beginning day-
and my fingers get cut by cold knives of light.
Slowly, fearfully, I raise my eyes to the sun-
and leaden clouds squeeze my throat
with their fists heavier than cigarette smoke.
Slowly, lovingly, I melt my lips into a kiss-
and I leave a bloody red trace on the coldness of some mirror.
Slowly, madly, I need you,
with my mind, my body, my life.
My voice gets lost in the silence
My mind in the madness
My body in the light.
And all that's left is praying... for death.
Come now...

Laura

Hi Laura,

I find your poem beautiful, and I don't think it is "prosaical" (but I'm not an expert of the english language).

Dear Laura,

I also find your poem very interesting in the way you contrast "expectation" with images. Depression and the terrifying emptiness, aloneness, and loss of direction that accompany the ending of a deeply-valued relationship really come forth from your words. Poetry isn't all about rhyming....and this sure seems like a powerful poem to me. Thanks for sharing it.

~Lizzytysh

P.S. You might want to add "Writing" to your profile .

"Cold knives of light" Excellent!

Wow. I agree about rhyming, it has limited uses. Your poem is amazing. What really struck me was the repeated use of "slowly" that gave a ethereal sense of time and longing to the piece. I also was struck by the "...cold knives of light." It sets the tone for what is to come (with consistency). Great piece. Regards, Laurie

what a beautiful poem.it really does honor to that feeling of time.when a second passes and it seams like eternity.a emotionaly laden moment,i think.
elazar

Oh boy, you said it, Elazar......."when a second passes and it seams like eternity.a emotionaly laden moment,i think"......blissful times those are, too. I remember walking.....and "our steps will always rhyme...." when time becomes completely altered.....so aware of each moment we are, the world passes unnoticed in a blur, as we are encapsulated in our own private space and energy, acutely aware of each other.....and time a new dimension. Those are very telling times.

I once, serendipitously/inadvertently, had confirmed another woman's attraction to my former husband [even at the time] when she described to me how time had incredulously slowed and she lost all track of where they were, how long it took them, and what time it was, as she walked with him to the park where I was ~ however, I had needed to be there earlier. She was a beautiful singer and dulcimer player, and he had played his guitar [slow and highly-melodic finger picking] as they walked. I smiled and said I knew just what she meant . It's his style to do something like that, however, I wouldn't be surprized if the attraction was mutual, as she was very beautiful .

Re-reading this poem, I find the words: "...fists heavier than cigarette smoke" to be quite delightful. In a cruel sort of way, of course.