Post summer break. Writing begins again. Experimenting with form, internal rhyme, and putting words in the mouth of death.
The Transcendence of Death I I slip like a disc into another world The curl of cream into my coffee The music from violins and the girls that play them are threads rubbed into knots which cannot be re-spooled II You fall like a penny into a wishing-well The shatter of ripples fades The inexorable sinking into the deep before verdigris enshrouds this memory of a coin, one day to be remembered, retrieved, and treasured
Appreciated where you took the coin imagery at the end: “one day to be remembered, retrieved and treasured.” Here’s hoping those ahead still look back on their ancestors in that way. As something shining and valuable.
Feels immediately classic. In the first stanza especially, every line feels inevitable as if it already existed (as the best poetry does). I also LOVE the strangeness of it