Another Hour Glass Poem... Imperfection
As you probably don't recall... I invented a poetry form called "Hour Glass" where each line has one fewer syllable than the previous until only one remains...
then the next line must be one syllable and somehow must have the same meaning (perhaps only by sound) with the previous line. In this case, "Hurt" and "Out" could mean the same thing, in a gay sense... I want to hurt him, I want to out him. I know, it's a stretch, but that's all that's needed...
then the poem's lines grow back to the original size.
Imperfection
I feel my body imperfect
The bones still work-- thankfully
But you know there is more
Soft tissue aching
Stretches inside
Don't snap back
They sag
Hurt
Out
Without
Hope of new
Perfection is
Sobering me up
Lift it got to move it
Yes, Pain can be a blessing
A time to know I am alive.
then the next line must be one syllable and somehow must have the same meaning (perhaps only by sound) with the previous line. In this case, "Hurt" and "Out" could mean the same thing, in a gay sense... I want to hurt him, I want to out him. I know, it's a stretch, but that's all that's needed...
then the poem's lines grow back to the original size.
Imperfection
I feel my body imperfect
The bones still work-- thankfully
But you know there is more
Soft tissue aching
Stretches inside
Don't snap back
They sag
Hurt
Out
Without
Hope of new
Perfection is
Sobering me up
Lift it got to move it
Yes, Pain can be a blessing
A time to know I am alive.