Sleep The inky recesses return It's time again To return to the coffin With pale linen and duck feathers To lay the head And close the windows Of the unconsciousness To let in the scratching cat That haunts him with her Fleas of gory and blood and knives and scoldings But when the painter above Brushes an azure sky once more The cat would shake its bell of shrill alarms and rings And the vampire Would wake again.
chiiyo's comments :
I like to think of this poem as one of my better imagery ones... I'm not very good with using imagery when I'm writing poetry, because most of the time my poems are just lines and lines of my thoughts, which, you can imagine, don't automatically have imagery weaved in them. I don't deny that I am rather enamoured of the whole vampire imagery idea, but to be honest, I didn't mean for the whole poem to be related to such vampiric natures, it just came naturally as a way to end off the poem, which had turned rather morbid one line after another. I do admit that sometimes the link between one line's imagery and the next line's is rather far, and very possibly the link is only apparent to me... but I still feel this is a nice poem...