Day one-hundred: unraveled  

this heart is heavy
so heavy that the idea of poetry
does not survive

when words begin to want to play
somebody yells at them; tells them
to get in line over there! Be exactly
what you are! Nothing more;
nothing less!

nothing poetic about heartache

only years from now
this heart will find
the courage to deal with
this weight
but for now,

gray moons and frozen trees

cold sunlight cutting rooms
with narrow knives

bare feet on ice cubes

dread in every step

joy unraveled

holiness removed.

© 2007 Thomas Trofimuk