Blankspot

From behind his
Window
With the gods’ eyes
                        Borrowed
I caught a glimpse of his
Tomorrow
And what would next
                        Follow
In his genes and bone
                        Marrow

His seeds were on the
Floor
The room was without a
Door
And the blank blanket
Immature
The fowls and the cold were
Allured
But to the cold his skin was
Inured

The seeds with the cold
Fought
But the fowls took a
Shot
And what was left wasn’t a
Tot
His last seed was left to
Rot
But all I could see was a
Blankspot 

copyright 2007 by Nana Fredua-Agyeman

Comments

  1. Interesting poem. Is fatalism one of the themes?

    ReplyDelete
  2. You can read fatalism from it. I like it when people read differently from my piece, but you were spot on on this.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Ok. Reading it gave me the "whirlpool effect" where just as I was finding ground on a certain meaning, the poem seemed to shift or move on. I know better than to ask (being something of a poet myself, so I understand if you would rather not share) what was your inspiration?

    ReplyDelete
  4. my inspiration? loss...abjection...doom...

    ReplyDelete

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