Fortitude
It is lost,
the vibration of my being
lying dormant
in a dream of illusion,
waiting
The song of the keys
glistening black and white
latent
yearning for the wandering hands
of tempestuous rapture
My true being is eclipsed
by routine of daily existance
muffled by the constance
of an uneventful consciousness
Soon, the seed of patience and hope
will emerge from
the darkness of the silent tomb
and from it will come
a jubilation
that no victor has yet to know
Copyright © Diane Warhurst | Year Posted 2006
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment