Pick Your Topic: Depression and Sadness
This is the age of my discontent
when past regrets stench the nights,
as seasons leap in haste with my wired despair
where autumn trees crackle with pride
and chilled sensibilities...
how old can I get?
Life is now but a fleeting wisp of isolation
for one dumping life's passion
through human warmth, love's nobility;
that all the rubbish filth I carry
negates a caress of lost kinship, while moon-glow
awaits eventide's song without me.
I hear treetops of maples chant
to their boughs, wondering how
time’s compass has much to swoon about,
reeling igniting fireflies for a thrill, a light dance ...
so here I am to clear this rotting litter ,
afraid of growing old alone by myself
in a trash of regrets.
,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
Originally Written 7.17.2016
Resubmitted 11.18.2017 for Russel Sivey
Contest: Choose A Topic: A, B, C or D
Copyright © Nette Onclaud | Year Posted 2016
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