Edgy
What happens when the edge dulls?
That knife can't cut the bread
sometimes is slips off the skin of the potato
skittering into the skin
red
And sight
the edge of the eyes dull, wearing at the mind
as the fuzzy encroachment greys the colors
this
aging of which no sharpener can carve away the damage
and the heart
does it lose its edge
what happened to that fluttering in there
as the butterflies die?
Old hat love,
the sliding scale of passion
what does Hef really feel?
It's a rule
All sharp edges by nature become less so.
Maybe diamonds last, but can they shape their own lives
to time?
That knife can't cut the bread
sometimes is slips off the skin of the potato
skittering into the skin
red
And sight
the edge of the eyes dull, wearing at the mind
as the fuzzy encroachment greys the colors
this
aging of which no sharpener can carve away the damage
and the heart
does it lose its edge
what happened to that fluttering in there
as the butterflies die?
Old hat love,
the sliding scale of passion
what does Hef really feel?
It's a rule
All sharp edges by nature become less so.
Maybe diamonds last, but can they shape their own lives
to time?
Labels: sharp edges
posted by Echo at 9:35 PM
3 Comments:
When the edge is lost and the old stones don't hone the way they once did...time for a new stone, a new beginning to wear slowly away the newness. The beauty of aging is not in what I can't do anymore but rather all the things I now can try my hand at that I never knew they could touch.
Oh an Hef...I don't know i think he passed a long time ago and what we see now is a Disney made animatronic. Something no longer used in the "It's a Small World" exhibit.
Good questions!
I am going to leave the edge raggedy, a measure of the wear and tear and a record of my past to show others.
Your poetry does what poetry should -- invokes thought and consideration.
Thanks
when the edge becomes blunt, when the heart loses its fire, i hope i'll find a new sharpness to my edge, a new fire within...
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