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And Death I Think Is No Parenthesis
oh, how i wish i could write
like the wonderfully weird e.e. cummings
but the right words somehow escape me
left only with personal shortcomings
it’s clear, i’m no Shakespeare,
Keats, Poe, or Byron
though heed my many utterances
as the call of the prating siren
so let the verses flow
not only with gestured speech
but with sentiment shown
to all that my words may reach
a simple tale of a forgotten adoration
and missing someone so dear--
sadness and longing just to find
a tangible reason to remain here
let the memories come flooding back
like a pint-up raging stream
trying to make sense of my agony
and all that we see or seem
is it wrong to find
comfort in pain
awake forever in a sweet unrest
can a sorrowful heart ever truly gain
let the words be written
and never again fear
that thy heart could forget, thy spirit deceive
all those who find beauty in drear
although the torment and anguish
may never fully cease
a lover’s ear will hear the lowest sound,
one day, the heart will find its inner peace
and in the end, amid the truth
when your soul feels used up and small
never forget the moments when
love is the whole and more than all
*I wrote this poem on April 16, 2021, as part of a ’30 days of poetry’ challenge. This was day 16 and the prompt was: Read 3 poems by the same poet then write a poem in a similar style. I read three random poems by e.e. cummings and while I didn’t mimic his unique style, I did write an offbeat ode to him and a few others the best way I knew how.
Copyright ©
Courtney Hubbert
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