Paperweight Poetry

My heart is made of thread Woven into a loving life So I was surprised when you appeared and said That you just happened to be a knife.  -anna sluder 

I found you in the closet of my soul, Sitting timidly in the corner, so I never assumed, That when you never asked to be made full, You wouldn't mind that I took up all the room.   - anna sluder 

Rivers run blue like the sky When we are loving and kind And rivers run red thereby When hate is all that we can find.  -anna sluder 

Seven men are shooting To make the mourner more at ease  But gunshots do not bring More than more people to lay in carved trees  As if gunshots from each man thrice Could make you forget that the dead  Instead of wedding rice  Is having soil tossed upon his head  The sound of gunshots do not bend The detriment in feelings of pain They rip the wounds instead of mend  And make you wish it is you in the death box lain.   -anna sluder 

The natatory sky shatters and shakes, seizes and splits  For there is nothing in that brackish watery sky  That ever lets out or lets in any light Besides only a nefarious flash of it being electrified  The oyster sky of grey shadows over its light Buoyant is this lighthouse hidden behind So in order to rescue the paper boat clouds from blight  There must be a light through which the brine they can find  To not shred their paper sails in the wind  Or to wreck the paper boat clouds upon shadows grey So thunder must crack the oceanic sky, fissure, and skin  For light of the house to blink out for the compass to say  Oh come oh skies of thunderous grey  Rift and cleft the watery sky's foam For cracks let the light out to lead the way  And will guide our paper boat clouds inevitably home.  -anna sluder 

If the sky is an oyster shell    Dawn proves something's inside   When the sun rises up from its sleeping spell   We find it is the sun that is its pearl.  -anna sluder 

Beloved do not be afraid  To show me your hands For I have scars too Bloody marks of the world's demands And scars are more than battle wounds  They are dark and mangled like soil since  Darling they are where the flowers bloom.  -anna sluder