this is part of a longer poem

In Her Hands






There is another kind of glass, a magical


Globe of glass, the one Virginia holds


In her hands, above her head, as she dances,


Her smile beatific, following the globe


In sleepy, slow circles around the room,


Wherever it takes her, a floating orb,


Light as a ballon on a string on a blue sky day,


As she twirls to its music, dances to its rhythms.


This is her magical world of schizophrenia,


A make-believe land of colors and dreams,


Of heavy meds and hallucinations, a world


In which she is never alone, a fragile world,


Quick to shatter should her arms weary,


The music stop, then, a world of pretty shards. 





Sonnet by one trick pony The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 492 times
Written on 2015-07-14 at 17:07

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Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
You know me. I'm going to look at form and sound, and mostly ignore the subject. This is a good poem.

Jamsbo Rockda The PoetBay support member heart!
Very interesting indeed. It stands on its own well and makes me wonder about the rest of the story.

ken d williams The PoetBay support member heart!
I am as much looking foreword to part two :)
Ken D

What a sad and beautiful analogy. I would like to read the whole poem .