On my Deathbed
I told language:
Thanks for having my children
The language had names,
As did the children:
They were all words.
I dreamt of a door
The kind without windows
That always stands open.
I remembered some more
So I said the unspoken:
I gave them my want.
It declined.
Chantelle Atkins, Author
Fiction, Nonfiction, and Poetry Journal
"As for me I reduce everything to a tumult of words" - Clarice Lispector
A blog about literature not yet available in English
© 2018
Building a community of researchers
An Ember for Thought
"As for me I reduce everything to a tumult of words" - Clarice Lispector
"As for me I reduce everything to a tumult of words" - Clarice Lispector
Amy Spohr, photography blog
A writer and her reading.
Daily thoughts and experiences expressed through poetry and prose
Something feels like time is not yet done here. Something…like a hand, reaching out from a candle in the darkness…
exquisite.
Beautiful poem.