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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required (1.) A Man His Soul Dwells, In Treasures, Mixed With Sorrows When a memory flies like a broken arrow. Heart cries its aches, like a wounded, bleeding sparrow. A man his soul dwells, in treasures, mixed with sorrows Often looks back more than, at sweeter tomorrows Night comes with red gashes and tons of dark lonely Cries he for her- wishing, wishing for, if only Only those days of splendor, Love falling like rain To feel her touch, smell her long blonde hair- yet again. When a memory flies like a broken arrow. Heart cries its aches, like a wounded, bleeding sparrow. A man in old age sees love and life in his dreams Mixed with hurt and too oft wading bloody-red streams Yet on ancient banks, lies hidden honeyed treasures Beyond hope's rescue but within mercy's measures So says torn out heart and its most grievous desires That can again ignite most wondrous of fires. When a memory flies like a broken arrow. Heart cries its aches, like a wounded, bleeding sparrow. A man his soul dwells, in treasures, mixed with sorrows Often looks back more, than at sweeter tomorrows Night comes with red gashes and tons of dark lonely Cry he for her- wishing, wishing for, if only Only those days of splendor, Love falling like rain To feel her touch, smell her long blonde hair- yet again. When a memory flies like a broken arrow. Heart cries its aches, like a wounded, bleeding sparrow. Robert J. Lindley, December 22nd, 1977, December-10th, 2019 Rhyme, ( Those Blues, That A Sad Soul Refuses To Abandon ) Born from an old 1977 poem fragment... with a bit of hindsight and a wee bit of now well aged insight.... Syllables Per Line: 0 12 12 0 12 12 12 12 12 12 0 12 12 0 12 12 12 12 12 12 0 12 12 0 12 12 12 12 12 12 0 12 12...................... Total # Syllables::312 Total # Words::::::236 Note: This fragment sat in my private journal for 42 years. I simply could not finish it when it was a part of my youth, my living, my aching sorrows. When I felt that my life would have not any more tomorrows! Today, a fresh look and my muse told me to splash some ink, and soak anew some lonely paper...... Puer natus est sapientia non habuisse animam O'that tam diu!
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