I have seen the destitute in their health and company,
More joyful than a lonely king languishing on his throne:
On his deathbed, you see him defeatedly lay,
With not a single reason to stay.
His cure wasn’t served in a golden chalice,
And his gloomy prison was his mighty palace.
Nor were the beasts of fate taken by his knight,
Thus was weakened by the attack of night.
He assumed he could buy respect and love,
But his erroneous thought was not from above.
Perishing like darkness by the break of dawn,
Folly stole his youth; he's a dying fawn.
But despite all ills, he remains there still,
On bed, waiting for destiny's ride downhill.
Nature seems to languish in winter
Trees bare it all as snowflakes fall
Bird fly south to warmer climes
Yet all hope is not lost
Spring will renew their
Splendor and glow
Birds will sing
Dulcet
Songs
in a dungeon of grief she used to languish.
her much beloved dog succumbed to cancer;
she got another sooner than expected -
gifted a puppy.
there's more to this birthday gift than meets the eye;
a more important gift, a key to freedom
as she's no longer confined to grief's prison. -
her spirits in flight
"The languish are not the unfortunate ones, they're only victims of circumstances. Let's throw in the buoy."
- Quote _ by poet
They become weak as the days go by,
Some even fall and die,
The elements are too feeble to prop them,
Something else pervades the realm.
Their beneficiaries are nonchalant to their plight,
They’re engrossed in their search for light,
Ignoring the attendant effects,
Jettisoning the causative defects.
The former are gradually becoming a shadow,
Around them is a shrivelled meadow,
They’re bleeding on the inside,
The writings are all on the outside.
the surprising thing is not
that every man has his price
but just how low it is
Quote By Napoleon Bonaparte
searching under stones
curious what the worms have
holes become the norm
stay there a little too long
and you will envy the worms
“Every wall that would entrap me has a door that would free me. And I languish because the fear of freedom often leaves me preferring the familiarity of the wall.” Craig D. Lounsbrough
I'm languishing in self-pity
My cat is lost in the city
Grieving for my itty bitty
Missing kitty Missing kitty
Again, I find myself alone
Nobody calls me on the phone
Weeping for loved ones I have known
Fate, I bemoan Fate, I bemoan
A poet languishes each time
He seems to be bereft of rhyme
Unable to write poems, sublime
It is a crime It is a crime
Artists languish in mortal fear
that their paintings will bring a tear
Like Van Gogh who lobbed off an ear
End of career End of career
Who has not languished in despair
pining over things hard to bear
Anguish reveals how much we care
Heartache beware Heartache beware
“New love is a fresh breeze, but when it leaves unexpectedly,
it knocks the wind right out of you.” By author of this poem
Languish
Now sick from love, I languish here,
and rarely do I leave my bed.
I never thought a simple tear
that for that guy I’d ever shed.
He wore me down with charming ease.
Now sick from love, I languish here
recalling how like a fresh breeze
it felt when I saw him appear.
He broke right through my private sphere
that I’d been guarding with such care.
Now sick from love, I languish here.
How could he also bring despair?
First love and joy he brought to me.
I took his sweet words as sincere.
His leaving I did not foresee.
Now sick from love, I languish here.
In languish sleep, so went her fate
through loveless marriage, mired in hate.
Soft-spoken words that now chastise
his world, of stranger’s scents and spies;
gold, traded for some silverplate.
Just once forbidden fruit she ate
her endless strangled passions sate
she made this bed on which she lies
in languish sleep.
Suspicions she dared not set straight
this is a world she did create;
where every little word implies;
one now where she averts her eyes
and lives where love and guilt conflate
in languish sleep.
The cry of the cockerel before dawn,
The overalls she wears are all torn.
The weight of the hay bale,
The sound of the crow’s wail.
The sight of another fence down,
Only 4 eggs today Mother will frown.
The cat giving birth to yet another litter.
Taste of the poor, sick cow’s milk is bitter.
The well’s water level is very low.
Grass round the house needs a mow.
Sheep in back pasture need to be hand fed.
Mice yesterday got into the bread.
Vegetable patch plants are growing so slow.
There's a dance on Friday don’t you know.
Can’t get the knots out of her long hair,
Can’t go to the dance, has nothing to wear.
All this adds plenty to her mental anguish,
Guess she will just stay here and languish.
“Three, 300, or 3,000 - these are the number of unknown days, each far too little and yet too much at the same time, to see an irrevocably declined loved one languish and suffer, with that bittersweet release lingering in the doorway, but never quite being sent all the way in, to comfort and carry our loved one to that Better Place.”? Connie Kerbs
Laughter – her sweet laughter – has gone away.
As she leaves our space, I wonder why she sometimes gets this way.
Nothing can we do for her then, unfortunately.
Growing numb, she distances herself from family.
Unrelenting for some days is she with apathy and gloom.
In utter listlessness, she stays up in her room.
Somehow she snaps out of it - though it may take a while.
Happy we become again to see our dear teen daughter smile!
March 15, 2023
For the Writing Challenge 'L' Words
By Constance La France
My heart has these many dwellings
such dead cold cautionary tales
long disregarded and condemned.
And then there is this secret palace
eclipsing all true loves desolation
where deep resides your essence.
A rapture of all your many graces
this mansion of your many riches
this residence of many memories.
And then there is your portrait it
hangs formidably in the great hall
duchess over all these dominions.
Oh how grand is this stellar view
how lovely in its awesome repose
mute witness to all my sad despair.
My heart has these many dwellings
but to only one loving abode do I go
to one haven where I will always be.
Portrait of all my heart’s affections
my desperate insanity’s sweet relief
where I will yet languish evermore.
Your glance follows my every step
as smoky embers hotly choke me
as I tend to sorrow’s dying flames.
I die willingly over and over again.
entombing myself so I may forever
remain in these hallowed silent halls.
(click on the pic to buy my poetry book!)
Languish in your beauty
Enjoy honest delights
Wowing people is not done
Easily by others.
Lucky thing you are a rose
Bestow him the means to bloom
Set free his captive heart,
From the dangers of wilt
From the perils of guilt,
Hardened heart traps,
Rotted soul snares
Troubled eye glares
He shall believe in your beauty
Setting fires to your infinity
He toils and turns to you
Bestow her the means to bloom
Prove to her the sure science of Love
Give her reason to return in your arms
Hold her to your story
Voice the untold allegory
From the fate of death,
Quench her eyes with
Blessed beams of divinity
She will reassure your doubts
What remains cannot break her
The torrents of turbulence are ceaseless
The nights of woe are sacred and ageless
You are endless in them alone
You are complete in them together
A collaboration with David W. Breidenthal
Languish In My Anguish
Noticed that my patience did languish,
And my emotions were full of anguish;
Weary worn;
Full of scorn,
Not achieving what I can accomplish.
Jim Horn
4999
In dark for a long time we have been, Waiting for Jesus to come back again; At end of tunnel is a glowing light, That is such a pretty sight, Becoming a radiant beam, So it did seem, And to all of my delight Christ in form of Santa will be here tonight.
Jim Horn
Before the ink was drying,
Trump was already falsifying.
Sound familiar.
Association with some people I did annul
After trying to get through their thick skull
What my each poem was meant to be
My thoughts understood by you and me.
Things should always be simple and plain
When you are standing out in the rain
If you fool around for a while and fret
Pages are hard to read that may be wet
Leave all the rain and go back inside
And will find yourself quite satisfied
When by warm fire my poems are read
And later will find yourself in bed.
Like I do too you will often dream
With thoughts from God who is supreme
Then next day when dawn did break
Mind will seem like an enormous earthquake
Ran into man cave and wrote poems down
While face was smiling not wearing a frown
And now no longer at all had any anguish
In love of my Lord poems liked to languish
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