Silhouettes of reason,
shimmering,
next to sun-scorched
melodies of life.
One minute,
a bask in the sun,
and
the next,
the smell of searing skin.
A thin red line,
traversing its way
through
infinite darkness,
with only,
the wretched hope of life
for company,
writhing
wriggling
bleeding
to make it redder.
Who stepped over the line?
I wonder.
Was it me,
or my
wakefulness?
The greed for another
short-lived breath?
A mesmerized moment of
strangled survival?
Or my choice
of choosing
the charade,
over
the
chiseled sculpture of ashes?
This picture by Thomas Hawk was Nathan's prompt last week.While many people saw the picture as two separate individuals, I saw them as two identities of the same person, exactly the same except for their colour, the difference between them brought about by crossing over just a thin red line. What do you think? Does the idea come across? What do you think about the way I've used breaks and words in the poem? Please do leave your comments under the comments section. Thank you.
