The Soul
His legs tremble,
Standing: over the-mound of dust,
He does not see the past left behind
And strives to extinguish the brightly burning star Forgetting,
that nearby A blue island floats in tears.
And a lingering restlessness sweeps past him.
He parries the questions of the present Pricking him intermittently
Not seeing with the eyes
The glowing cinder under ashes
The tide is cheated by the foaming sea Which drowns it
And wandering in the forlorn cremation ground He is haunted by the shrieks Of his bedeviled soul
A formless shadow knocks at his dormant mind.
Nothing awakes but anguish Crushing the weary breath, He gasps and fumbles
With the rising crescendo of
the inner agony, Which pricks him
And is irredeemably absorbed in the body,
The wound remains green And on the lighted pyre not the body,
The bruised conscience burns.
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.
