Reflections of a Harrowing Time
A deafening silence, waiting in isolation.
Within cold white walls, test after test,
no new revelation.
No food, no drink, surviving on drips of medication,
Reading medics' reactions, of puzzling looks: running out of options.
The delicate soul weighs heavy,
With rumbling noises from the belly.
Clad in dreary hospital gowns,
The fading spirit answers with frowns.
Out from a dark shadow came:
Will I live or will I die?
Hope whispered, “Nothing changes
when you cry.”
Praying, some say, brings miracles
from the sky,
Now is the time to look up high and
give praying a try.
Each moment is precious, no more
sighs and more of asking why.
Now isn’t your time to wave goodbye.
Zyrool
8/26
Hills speak of a weathering,
each lays bare
an allegory of bereavement.
Grief has its own inward milling.
What once was the high pulse
of rapture
is now the nag of a heartbeat
sheathed
like a stone in a shoe.
When you try to name the hurt,
objectify its presence,
it turns into a dog,
a child,
a perfect stranger,
a place lost or
a place that found you lost
and there it sets
a table and chair before you
so you can write from that place
to explain
the curling vine of your sorrow
before it became
a smooth worn pebble
you now chafe and harrow
with threadbare fingers.
Harrowing Experience Was To Me
Had thought for a while;
Harrowing experience,
Really was to me.
About politics;
All of the idiots there;
None a friend of mine.
Jim Horn
Sighs and tears escaped
From an enamored couple
When both realized
Love had withered forever
Lacking of fertilizers
6-10-2016
the darkest hour in the pale bubble of the moon
cool midnight, lonely solvent for tomorrow
raking stars like marbled glitter
shade and shadow merge as one
all asleep, earth and hearth
my heart beats deep in mantle's drum
nightbirds chased by whispered death
silent fled and silent gone
slumbered in diurnal rhythm
a house squats dim, creaks and hums
filled with soothing dreams, soft murmurs
but it's our nightmares make us run
die a little in morning's light
dying to let born generations come
curse on one ignored in time's passing
my longing grown to repair the night
as smolt fed on sire's flesh, frenzied for pacific salt
young blood beat hot against the parent's net
tho' soft and green as summer's grass
windblown swayed with soft rain sounds
lit blazing fire-lance, bursting hearts
flared out into constellation's realm
cupped by fair Tethys, far above a dreamer's sight
and spent fathers rest below, weary now in mortal hands
They built an abattoir for man
In the heart of the land
Where rythm of catridges played ballad
To hapless P.O.W. of the ballot.
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