Get Your Premium Membership

Respite from mortality

Poetry knows no age, as thee Marcia Abramsohn (the former ex lady friend of my late father corresponded with me some years back) wrote (by hand nonetheless, a long lost art) inlaid with ambidextrous zealousness impossible to identify, which hand crafted artistically colorful epigrammatic ghostly hint emblematic of former exuberance toward English Language..., perhaps other once vibrantly familiar tongues wagging less as tempus fugit slithers unseen stealing most cherished, prized, savored... commodity set to countdown immediately post parturition, yet blessed for thee to be gifted your then four score plus four amazingly graceful journeys celebrating your existence replete with handmaid's tales chronicling quotidian trials and tribulations, yet still adept, buoyant, cogent, diligent, eloquent, fervent, gallant, hellbent, intent, jimmying, kindling, loving, mustering, nursing, outlasting...Methuselah (ha...if only) lucid moments nudging awake memorialized occasions, where once upon a time (seems bajillion years ago) innocence concomitant with naivete throve, wherein unfettered dalliances found untrammeled lasses and lads absorbed with natural unbridled virgin love – gathering rosebuds while they may whispering sweet nothings strictly for respective paramour, (this of course hearsay and speculation) promising each other moon and stars ah...dusty fading memories, yours truly can never recount, (cuz mental illness co-opted, hijacked, up-ended...adolescent maturation, whereby agonizing crippling forfeiture jabs silhouetted illusory oasis peopled with all the golden opportunities left to wither on the vine o'mine youth, which mirage mocks escapist attempt into literary realm invisible dead poets society regale an existence bereft nope, no App could ever even virtually duplicate (even approximate) sidelined unrequited love, and no this marriage yielded scanty satisfaction, which fantasy life as Norwegian bachelor farmer (within mine imagination) solved, where living off the grid remedied forever being pennilessness, day late dollar short dime a dozen dirt poor dude dulling dufus...that's the news from my Lake Woebegone...where all the women...and children above the law never get reprimanded.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2022

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

A comment has not been posted for this poem. Encourage a poet by being the first to comment.