Constance La France Poet Free verse

''Oh, My Withered Dreams''

. . .   I am lost in a sea of memories
that scar the road map of my bleeding soul;
my words-  the highway to my deep pain, and
I follow a labyrinth of passages and corridors
                     curved and contrived-   
Oh, what of my withered dreams, my hopes!
Why do I seek out past sorrows
that come drifting like a dark death melody . . . 
My grief comes unbidden to stain my years, and
my tears hang from dripping branches in a
                      . . .  graveyard where tombs stand 
    in rows and rows of green grass . . . 
and happy hummingbirds hover in heavenly harmony
and red roses decay and the wind is a violin
(barefoot, ragged, hair tangled- I am a girl, in my dreams)
and blood seeps from the daggers in my heart . . . 
            . . .  life stretches before me like a long road.
Oh, I am sick of all this sorrow-   decay
I want days as clear as sparkling wine,
to live a life of peace and serenity;
     with days brilliant blue and nights full of stars, and
            picture perfect, instead of this vast empty place-
Oh, bitter this life-         yet . . .   a fire burns 
         within me and soon I will be set free . . . 

________________________
            May 16, 2017
(Written, February 13, 2017)

Free Verse/Oh, My Withered Dreams
Copyright Protected, ID 901079

Brian Strand
25 Lines

First Place

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Sandra Haight May 19, 2017 at 3:25 PM Constance, so sad, but written with words that so beautifully image your sadness and pain. Congratulations on your podium win in the contest. 7 Hugs, Sandra

Curtis Johnson May 18, 2017 at 4:19 PM Indeed my friend, whomever is bound in this poem has already been set free. Those elusive dreams have been arrested, captured, and adjusted. The 'soon' is therefore the 'now'. Congrats. Great poem.

Charlie Smith May 17, 2017 at 1:02 PM You rescued us from such sorrow with the hope of your last line. Well done BW.

Ravi Sathasivam May 17, 2017 at 1:33 AM Excellent. As usual a beautiful and touching write. Enjoyed reading it. Thanks for sharing it.

Sunlite Wanter May 16, 2017 at 6:29 PM Beautiful writing, as usual from you. Sorrow is like mud in your soul that has to bubble up and up as a clear spring washes it away - and it does.