Sandy Player


Corner Stone


Pressed up to a cold radiator,
The curtains drawn over the day
Brushing his back
And erasing the golden gloat,
'I am, I am.'
Their thick obscurity makes
It too dark for even
The most insidious of shadows,
They all died and bled
Into one dominating grey tombstone.
His hazy gaze falls roughly
Around the calendar left fallen
Under his paper-covered desk;
A burial under unread documents and ill-organised folders.
His hands crossing one over the other
Clutch the narrow fabric of the bed sheet,
Conducting the cold-metal shiver that performs
An ancient sacrificial doom dance in
Every segment of his unimpressive figure.
He's stuck to the radiator like it gave birth to him.
Every emotion emigrates around his face,
Competing for the quivering lips, the heavy eyebrows,
The daft colourings of his soft cheeks.
He wets the bed with clear tears,
Shed without ever knowing why,
Why cry, why me, why me?
The lonely closet of his life
Looks him gauntly in the eyes
Gaining their full illusive focus,
Because the skeleton just fell out.
And the cold radiator
Leaves him cold like the palm of a unheld hand.

Submitted: Sunday, January 26, 2014
Edited: Monday, January 27, 2014
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Comments about this poem (Corner Stone by Sandy Player )

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  • Rookie - 285 Points V P Mahur (3/24/2014 2:31:00 PM)

    Dear Sandy,
    This poem is grave in feelings.
    Nice work. Keep it up.
    Thanks!

    ................................
    'Destination Of Love'
    ................................
    Please Reply. (Report) Reply

  • Rookie - 285 Points Aria Siren (2/6/2014 8:53:00 AM)

    I've probably told you before but I have a thing for endings. I love when the ending of a song, a movie, a book, a poem, leaves me with some fragment of what I just experianced and sticks with me. This ending is quite amazing and because of it, I've revisted this poem several times. Also really liked the part about the skeleton falling out of the closet. Clever as always.
    Cheers (Report) Reply

Read all 2 comments »

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