even the smallest fern triumphant

....and I
live in the spaces between

ice changing shape and form
hands shivering, lips splitting

I find you straddling the words: soul and mate
huddled and wadded into a crumpled corner,

but my eyes are lost....
searching

if there is life in this madness,
let the world break open its glory

the smallest fern triumphant
to embrace its filigree light

— Kailashana, Jul 13, 2010

About This Poem

About the Author

Critiques

Seren

15 years 11 months ago

Dearest ~ Mum

Sigh its gotten to the point I need pictures to express how your poetry affects me ... my crumpling heart I leave in homage love and biggest hugs JayCee x x x nominated (Quote~~"It is by universal misunderstanding that all agree. For if, by ill luck, people understood each other, they would never agree. "--Charles Baudelaire)

Candlewitch

15 years 11 months ago

Dear Anna

Jayne is right, pictures would help us to show you how we feel about your work. It is genius. favorite lines: if there is life in this madness, let the world break open its glory Always, Cat

xena465

15 years 11 months ago

Sigh!

"….and I live in the spaces between" ... Beautiful and sad Anna. Xena Quote: Science is what you know; philosophy is what you don't know. - Bertrand Russell

shirley harrison

15 years 11 months ago

Anna

There must always be hope, wonderful poetry i also loved the same lines as cat! with much love shirl.... shirley harrison

hobo

15 years 11 months ago

Very nice work my friend

This is very nice work my friend, I really like the lines ….and I live in the spaces between *You can never pick anyone up if you are busy putting them down*

Kailashana

15 years 11 months ago

Thank you all for reading.

Thank you all for reading. This was an exercise for me. The poem started with a couple of thoughts, the sounds of ice in a glass, and the words soul mate, and somehow *being painted into a corner*... very astute. The original poem was much much longer, and I wondered how much I could eliminate without losing the heart of my poem and without ending in a haikuesque poem. Perhaps it *worked* after all. Smiles. Light, Anna "There is a kind of mysticism to writing." ~ Irvine Welsh