Borderline

perhaps a place
at the holy hem of heaven
commends itself to the noble

souls who’ve tiptoed gracefully
past the temptations of the telluric realm
– certainly there is a limbo

here at the edge of all movement
a stifling halfway house, iron-girded
by grief, faint-heart, and where the despairing

insiders look on, always seeing out
though vision is broken by mottled glass
and water drops decanting heavily

when mists descend, decision clouds
handkerchiefs in hand we wipe
the panes, our eyes and wave away

the hours it takes to break down
doors, through to the other side of heartache

Keeping it to 100 words for M’s poetic prompt: Limbo

40 Comments on “Borderline

  1. ..and once through, to lay there, exhausted, without energy to see where there is. You’ve created a palpable limbo, Laura, with your words.

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  2. There’s hope in both places though. Noble souls have the hope they’ll be prayed out of Limbo, and grief passes. I like the grimy window pane image too.

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  3. Purgatory and limbo and Hell–poppycock. I vote for Bardo and life-between-lives.

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  4. Always standing on the border, an outsider looking in. I like this, especially your vivid descriptions of the “borderline” and what happens there.

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  5. I often wonder how it’s possible to fit limbo and purgatory into the “God is love” philosophy.

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  6. Vivid description of that limbo. Who is looking in/out and wanting to get in/out? I specially love this part:
    a stifling halfway house, iron-girded
    by grief, faint-heart, and where the despairing

    insiders look on

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  7. Oh, Laura, sometimes I really fangirl over your poems. This is such a great combination of emotion and exact analysis. It’s one I wish I’d written.

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  8. very cinema, Laura – visual and palpable. thanks for adding your voice ~

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  9. Beautifully written, Laura. The border of grief and breaking through it.
    I liked how these lines: ” though vision is broken by mottled glass
    and water drops decanting heavily” work in so many ways. The window–a mirror of the soul–or a face–the rain, the tears? Finely crafted poem.

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  10. You’ve distilled grief in your words, Laura, and given it a name, which I think is most fitting – it’s just how I felt – still feel some of the time. The phrase ‘holy hem of heaven’ is effective and I love the lines:
    ‘…vision is broken by mottled glass
    and water drops decanting heavily’.

    Like

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