Shaken

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  • Birth

    Shaken

    I was born broken
    into a shattered world.
    Pulses race along white tile and green scrubs.
    My eyes opened and I saw
    others like me that were broken.
    My hands,
    reaching,
    for anything I could have.
    Fragile fingers
    shaking in the still air.
    It wasn't the best place to be,
    but I could say that I was
    shaken
    in an unshaken world.
    Where the people operate like robots
    and the air is acidic.
    And the ash
    falls like snow.

    By: Brandi Deacon
    2010

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    TREVON commented on Shaken

    01-05-2011

    Excellant I felt every word, from the place it was written. Trevon

    BringMeBullets

    03/25/2011

    Thank you. :)

    Crush commented on Shaken

    05-17-2010

    everytime i read you, i know i will be taken to your big world, your small world. i know that i will feel something new....something deep, sad or sadder. my heart goes out to you . sometimes i can feel hope, i pray that my feelings are correct. thank you, bring me bullets. easy 10 !

    BringMeBullets

    05/18/2010

    Thank you so much. :) Sometimes I can see a light, and I hope I'm not imagining such an amazing thing... But I think it's real, and I think your hope is too..

    Dano commented on Shaken

    04-07-2010

    yet again another fine example of talent... thanks for sharing

    BringMeBullets

    04/08/2010

    Thank you for reading. :)

    reyjamiei commented on Shaken

    04-05-2010

    ...wonderful poem....i really enjoy your work...thanks for sharing...

    BringMeBullets

    04/06/2010

    Thank you so much.

    ginga commented on Shaken

    04-01-2010

    bullets, This poem does shake the reader. To think that a young innocent babe would have to feel shaken from the start.A very interesting take on bringing kids into the world. ginga

    BringMeBullets

    04/01/2010

    Thank you.

    In science one tries to tell people, in such a way as to be understood by everyone, something that no one ever knew before. But in poetry, it's the exact opposite.

    Franz Kafka (1883-1924) Czech writer.

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