Shattered Window

 

 

Shattered Window

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Should I sit before

Thee, to feel the rays

of sunshine, cast upon

my weak heart,

or taste the bitter cold, and

angry rain you pour

into my mind drenched in

madness.

 

The Raven, black and winged

perches there awhile and

pecks at insects, that linger in

the crevices of cracked and

blistered wood, cast with

cobwebs left by black widow

spiders kill.

Still

The windows shattered glass

reflects the fire in the hearth,

recalling years ago when

its warmth, kept our innocence

of sensual pleasures beneath

it’s flickering light, that licked

our naked bodies with heat for

one another’s daring boldness

and caress.

 

The window has grown old,

with frame and pane of bent

scars upon this room, torn

from the years of long ago,

when children frolicked

outside its walls among

the red and yellow flowers so

plenty then.

 

Yet now,

Depression sets in,

and cast its ugliness upon him,

while he lingers under a spell,

that it put upon his defeated

shell, he hates himself for

being lost in coma by a

trauma sent from hell.

 

Will he ever awaken from?

his twisted past and find a

shining lamp to lead the way

to safety, or does he find

himself inside a mirrored

reflection of his beautiful

mind, now lost forever in

the darkest cavern of

swirling mist, hugging

the shoreline and lifted

by the tides rolling in

from a mermaid’s breath.

 

© Copyright Vincent Moore . All Rights Reserved

Vincent Moore

Vincent Moore

Vincent Moore pens his thoughts about many things and has a style all his own. Sometimes, he parties with words excessively and it becomes necessary to publish quickly lest his work be lost in the dark corners of his room or his mind. Vincent will lead you into mysterious worlds that are strange yet somehow familiar, worlds that will leave you unsettled and breathless for more.

He was born and raised in Montreal Canada among the Irish, Brits, Italians and French. Point St Charles (commonly called The Point) was the Hell’s kitchen of Montreal. He played, cried, laughed and fought on the street corners, survival was an instinct and watching each others back important. Vincent left home at 17 to find his way in the world, failure and success he had plenty of. He studied the Arts and loved to draw and paint. Took acting lessons and envied those on the stage under the bright lights and hoped to some day become an actor, writer, playwright or painter. Vincent welcomes you to his world of mystery, fantasy and solitude. You can find a few of his writings in one of 3 books he's published.In Absinthia- In Melancholia and In Passionata.
Vincent Moore

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Vincent Moore

Vincent Moore pens his thoughts about many things and has a style all his own. Sometimes, he parties with words excessively and it becomes necessary to publish quickly lest his work be lost in the dark corners of his room or his mind. Vincent will lead you into mysterious worlds that are strange yet somehow familiar, worlds that will leave you unsettled and breathless for more. He was born and raised in Montreal Canada among the Irish, Brits, Italians and French. Point St Charles (commonly called The Point) was the Hell’s kitchen of Montreal. He played, cried, laughed and fought on the street corners, survival was an instinct and watching each others back important. Vincent left home at 17 to find his way in the world, failure and success he had plenty of. He studied the Arts and loved to draw and paint. Took acting lessons and envied those on the stage under the bright lights and hoped to some day become an actor, writer, playwright or painter. Vincent welcomes you to his world of mystery, fantasy and solitude. You can find a few of his writings in one of 3 books he's published. In Absinthia- In Melancholia and In Passionata.

12 thoughts on “Shattered Window

  • November 20, 2018 at 11:22 AM
    Permalink

    I enjoyed this piece, Vincent. It is emotive and offers a choice to one who lingers in the past. I detect a bit of Old World style that depicts nostalgia, sorrow, depression, and hope. Is it possible one who is depressed may choose hope? It is possible by focusing on the nostalgia and being grateful for good memories that enriched the heart and soul. Lessons – stepping stones and stumbling blocks are lessons to grow from. Lovely verse and so well penned. Take care.

    Reply
  • November 20, 2018 at 12:43 PM
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    Thank you Phyllis for your kind review of this piece. This all evolved around my great loss of my last marriage and my children, I was in a depressed state of mind, indeed filled with sorrow and actual hope that just maybe we could reconcile, but it was not to be. This poem developed in that period of time, I remember my state of mind when I sat to pen it, my Muse had a free hand with me and certainly felt my sadness and this is what came of it. It’s behind me and I’ve moved on with my life, though shades of gray now and then impair my vision and and penetrate my memory of that great loss.

    Reply
  • November 20, 2018 at 6:16 PM
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    Oh, my such emotion I read and I nodded and memories came flooding back to times and places that have made me feel different emotions. Wonderfully penned.

    Reply
    • November 21, 2018 at 5:23 AM
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      Thank you Rasma. I do believe we all have memories that haunt us from time to time. This is one of mine unfortunately, expressed in verse.

      Reply
  • November 20, 2018 at 6:48 PM
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    Filled with stark imagery and emotion and so tenderly rendered in deep and abiding truths experienced. Of course I so relate to these feelings and thoughts, having many times been in the grip of depression, taunted by a world of iniquitous circumstance and pain. And as the blood flows out, the tethers weaken that keep us captive. A heart felt outpouring Vincent. Cheers!

    Reply
    • November 21, 2018 at 5:28 AM
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      “The blood flows out, the tethers weaken that keep us captive.” How so very true my friend. I felt that you would understand the pain of loss and bitter sorrows felt between my lines of verse. I wish it upon no man or woman ever. Thank you for your emotive acknowledgement of my past.

      Reply
  • November 20, 2018 at 9:51 PM
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    One often wonders, Vincent, if old buildings, windows etc could speak and tell us of the things they have witnessed over countless years, the memories that would be unlocked. Through the vivid imagery of this poem you skillfully portray the sadness and despair, you felt at the time of writing. The reader can feel it too. Well done, and thank you for sharing.

    Reply
  • November 21, 2018 at 5:34 AM
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    Thank you John, as I shared above in my replies to other fellow poets. It was a traumatic experience to say the least. Loss in any form is often an emotional upheaval. This was just one of mine, a memory I do my best to bury into the very back recesses of my mind, to keep my present sanity from ever becoming shattered again.

    Reply
  • November 24, 2018 at 8:27 AM
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    Definitely speaks to a time of great pain and trauma. Depression and hell go hand in hand. Upon reading the comments I see this was hell for you, and I am sorry you had to experience this pain. I hope you had some release upon writing this piece, though probably not enough. I love the emotion put into your writing my friend. You scars create masterful journeys, glad you found the strength to share something so personal. Excellent work.

    Reply
  • November 24, 2018 at 10:32 AM
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    Your correct in stating that depression and hell go hand in hand Paul. Back in the day when this all happened that’s exactly where I was. Releasing it in this piece a few years back was definitely mind bending as well altering. It cleansed me in some ways. I don’t ever wish my experiences on another, although it’s a common occurrence out there in our world. Too many heart, souls and minds broken, families destroyed and lost. Thank you for your compliment on my penning of my personal traumatic experience in dealing with this. The scare will never heal, yet I am at peace with my soul and forgiveness was given. Peace my friend.

    Reply
  • December 3, 2018 at 5:58 AM
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    Vincent my friend as always your words flow from your wounds. You always put a piece of your heart in every word you pen. My only hope is that the words are a healing process for you. You and your work inspire me like no other.

    Reply
    • December 4, 2018 at 6:55 AM
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      Thank you Kurt for your kind words, although I lived much of what I’ve penned, they have been a catharsis for my soul. It’s taken many years to heal those wounds inflicted upon me from my youth and broken marriage and family, yet I truly believe our creator sends us signals to make changes in our lives before it’s too late to do so. I am happy that my meager words help inspire you sir, I am but a simple scribe of words and feelings, hoping that some of my babble enters the hearts and souls of my readers. Peace and a very Merry Christmas to you and yours Kurt.

      Reply

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