My first ever sestina. Hope you all enjoy it.


Porcelain Dolls

Someone, help me! My mind's in a tangle!
I need to be released from this dream.
The star-streaked sky has turned crimson.
It's as if there's a hidden secret
Sent for me alone, the calm before the storm,
Deep inside the China dolls, made of porcelain.

O, my heavy heart will soon break like porcelain.
I can't seem to escape this bitter tangle.
Their thunder shakes me harder than the raging storm
Outside. "This is nothing more than a dream,"
I tell myself, hiding from my own secrets,
And the blood splashed on the wall is the most beautiful crimson.

It should terrify me, this cell stained in my own crimson,
And it takes me back to her and her precious porcelain
Dishes, where she kept all of her hidden secrets;
Those which always kept my mind in a tangle.
Now, that time is nothing more than a distant dream.
A dream still more horrible than this raging storm.

But I won't surrender to the violent storm,
Although the punctures leak crimson.
"Soon you'll sleep and have pleasant dreams."
The lies they feed me, fragile as porcelain.
Now, after the struggle, my hair's in tangles,
And I fear that they will soon discover my secrets.

Sometimes, she'd rant for hours after I unveiled her secrets.
Then, I'd wish for anything else, even to be lost in a storm.
She'd throw me around until I'd just lie in a tangled
Heap, the scars reopening, releasing fleshly flowing crimson.
Each time, I'd feel my bones crack against her porcelain
Dishes, the ones in which she kept her dreams.

Now, they call me out of my dream,
My recollection of her mind-numbing secrets,
And the memories of my dolls made out of porcelain,
Those which were smashed during every storm.
Even now, I find myself coated in crimson,
But my mind is no longer in a tangle.

I am released from my tangled web of dreams.
My secrets no longer bleed crimson.
My dolls of porcelain are no longer lost in the storm.




Poetry by Amanda Manmohan
Read 648 times
Written on 2006-05-23 at 02:29

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Kathy Lockhart The PoetBay support member heart!
Amanda I love the powerful impact of the repetition of the procelain, the breaking, and the crimson. The fragile nature, the cold nature, the blood of life all coming together because of destruction. This is a fantastic metaphor. It was deeply moving. Excellent write.
2006-05-23