a protagonist

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Shut the door to the purple and bruised
in the dark like an old dog and a bone
refuses the water too and a stew.
cooked to be so deliciously....
but her old bones are given
and stubborn of weakness,
I just need you to drink
and to eat something...

There's another of black of visions
I can hear the ravens and the pigeons,
after the flooring of my subtle empathy
and an old friend loses her grips
as that damn kitchen sink drips
I can't go with them to the Vets
as you are and will be everything.

I protected my little girl
its down, in so much hell,
when it pelts so much hail
and a dummy for sale,
that I refuse with......
a shore with a dead whale
of a protagonist...
and how I feel I failed
with a reality of no twisted,
just random of lists flicked
and I'm alone in Oblivion.

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Sara Etgen-Baker

Date: 8/21/2025 4:52:00 PM

as I read your poem, I dove into feelings of desperation and perhaps of hopelessnes. Capitalizing 'oblivion' added a depth to perhaps feelings of depression. I remember my mom having similar feelings and thoughts. Don't know what else to say....