The cry of the dead
the wail of those gone
unheeded by the uncaring living
who dully carry on
Are their pleas any different
from the screams of those unborn
aborted by the uncaring living
who dully carry on
mother nature's lullaby soft gentle,
kids unheeding unruly
I must remember
While I may become greatly enthused
By an idea, belief, program, regimen, book, or diet
And though I may contribute these passions where needed
I must not become disappointed or upset
When they go unheeded
For there are many paths to joy in this life
September 23, 2018
You have become an
unnoticed benchmark; a strong
yet hidden point of
reference that I found so
natural to hint at you.
Scarred eyes dulled from life's promises,
brokenly stare lost within sorrows clasp.
Deep stirring down in the darkness of sin,
seeded insanity takes hold.
Breaking through flesh,
tearing the surface desperate release.
The branches of misery ,
made from the bones of the weak,
etched in stark agony of every scream.
Piercing through fragile skin,
caressing curved beauty ,
darkness breaks free from within.
Embracing lovingly,
blood floods surfacing,
forever bound ,
to flow unheeded.
Unheeded in the spread of his name, quaking
Through the knit brow cuddling the sombre eye
Twice buckled into the couch of his yearning
The mouldy cast of unsculptured hands, moulting
In the surging sweaty cries' unexpected sigh
Sooner lost than won with unrenewed longing
Every day, every night in chastened haste, calling
That one face, one hand trembling on bosomy thigh
Through all the twigs of his knotty brooding
Mighty log in the dismembered chips, raking
In uneasy orgasms of a protracted lie
The woman clasped in the memory revolting
Fleshy hair to press, hovering nostrils, drinking
In the incensing vapours, and that face a wry
Screaming in the rubbing spasm, a bloody cursing
All, all and more, and the biting shame, clawing
Now at the name, silently growing, that shy
Child of old hopefully shared and lingered moaning
© T. Wignesan, 1960, first pub. in "Forum Academicum", University of Heidelberg, 1957 (from the collection: Tracks of a Tramp. Kuala Lumpur-Singapore: 1961)
at the peak of health,
fame or wealth,
there's always
an echoing warning
no one ever hears...
that in due time,
all conceits
bow and break
under the leaden burden
of the passing years.