The Personification

[Summer]

Note: I am not posting this for tips on my writing style.

Thank you.

The following is supposed to be a one way dialogue with the personification of sleep, whereas the conscious world is a love affair.

The Personification

By: Summer Hamori

Like a rabid animal clawing its way through, you’ve come for me – my lover, the repressed; sleep – I am not avoiding you, I swear. There is much on my mind to pull us apart. I know that you will wait on me again; patiently, beckoning – sleep – you are so familiar when you take me in your arms. You ask not where I have been, although a foreign taste delights my neck.

Your embrace is one of recognition and of warmth. Against my cold skin – Sleep, I apologize for my absence. I am stricken. I know you want me, lifeless and still. Take it now, because I will resist again with the dawn’s eyes upon us.

In assurance, you step aside – motivated by the knowledge that eventually, I must return to you. Cannot live without you.

My gown of black silk, weary upon a form fierce in stature, lies cold as granite in the pale moonlight. His pondering stare is upon me with a sense of soul-searching, and I know it sees more than this flesh. Prying into my face with an unprecedented intensity, searching for something that is evident in each movement. The wind teases my hair, and our eyes are engaged. Mine convey a message: I am not ashamed to expose myself before you. I have nothing to hide.

He tempts me, darling – for again, we share a night of restless tossing, and again, I am with someone else as you lie alone, a vicious smile – self-induced torture – unbothered by the revelation of my incessant destruction, but perhaps taken by the limits to which we push ourselves. You have always recognized what I am – maybe you are excited when contemplating the frustration by which skin is meeting, or by the prospect of my body, unmoved in his most desperate pursuit –

It was not as he had expected, when I rose to life. It was not a matter of controlling me, but of destroying the presence of fear – of personal dominance. Of something dark – broken and cast aside, so that the resulting grandeur was far more glorious than ever before. I am still unconquered, will always be unconquered.

I curl up beside you at the end of hours; my head against your hard chest, held in arms that know me – too tired to protest further. I sleep in comfort with the steady rise and fall – to the sound of your heart’s victory drum.

A battle fought for years - one finds it hard to surrender. It is important to remember that I am not losing, and that this adaption is a triumph unto itself.

A triumph over myself.

Edited February 3, 2011 by Summer

[DancingBear]

Good dramatic arc and movement from concrete to abstract. You have a good vocabulary and penchant for concrete imagery that I think would work well as poetry.

Keep it up!