Sunday, 24 April 2011

The End Begins


                                                             The end begins,
                                                             not with the first stain
                                                             of red sputum on a white handkerchief.
                                                             Nor by fingers grown numb with
                                                             seizure from the heart’s decay.
                                                             But, with an act
                                                             that leaves a toy discarded
                                                             in the nursery of early choice,
                                                             reviving for abandoned deeds
                                                             the doppel-gangers of dead youths,
                                                             clothed with reproach and unfleshed
                                                             figments of the mind’s high hopes of
                                                             futures fenced in a child’s green field,
                                                             that now is hedged; and ploughed,
                                                             and grown bitter with a
                                                             named and known crop.

                                                            © James Rainsford 2011

Note to readers: 
Posted in response to the picture prompt from Greg Laychak The subject of a great interview at: One Stop Poetry.
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  1. It seems as if life continues to become more and more standardized and institutionalized as we "evolve." It's as if so many of us are now born into day care, perhaps stay in school way too long, and then are put out to a sterile pasture—from nursery to grave. A great poem, Sir.

  2. Lyrical, evocative, beautiful, James-- uplifting even for its theme and on Easter. xxxj

  3. Layered and so true, James. As the possibilities fade, the walls close in, and it starts not with the body but the mind and soul,living with the choices.

  4. the toy discarded is a vivid imagery for me...and dopple gangers is such a great word...stirring james..

  5. It was stirring. Interesting what personal takes people took with this picture today. Certainly, these are thoughts that grip us all at odd times.

  6. Many layers to pick through... nicely done.


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