Point of Departure
He refers to himself in the third person,
knows life with no margins or banks,
nor tides, or mention of the day he departed.
it was a day like no other.
They waited a long time and thought about Venice,
and the quiet stars,
welcoming the will and words.
Find a place to go, like a garden or some amazing place beyond any dispute, beyond confusion embraced,
then look what we got,
a black blot,
screaming uncertainty.
That point of departure; abandoning, squandering all the days and nights of drenched lost meaning.
He hadn't belonged for decades, and still no one believed or understood, even the plain spoken, who could?
That's what we're talking about.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
