The Gift
Long days gather
like clouds on the horizon,
empty as popped balloons
Sucked dry of any
little it of morrow
To frail to thread
upon a string
Brittle as a
taste of death
Bleak as unread words
on a blank page
A gift unwished for...
unwrapped to reveal
a hopeless
entanglement of growing old
Categories:
unwished for, age,
Form: Blank verse
The Gift
Long days gather
like clouds on the horizon,
empty as popped balloons
Sucked dry of any
little it of morrow
To frail to thread
upon a string
Brittle as a
taste of death
Bleak as unread words
on a blank page
A gift unwished for...
unwrapped to reveal
a hopeless
entanglement of growing old
Categories:
unwished for, poetry, sad,
Form: Blank verse
Travelling down these sentences we find
Unknown,unsought, unthought, but always real
A home where we can rest our fragile minds
The people dropped,the habits left behind.
The good, the mediocre, what we steal
While travelling with the sentences we find
The hate that frees,the love that too close binds
The heart, the soul, the body, how we feel
For homes where we can rest our fragile minds
The touch that chills, the distances unkind
Unwished for yet demanding all the soul.
Unravelling are our sentences unblind.
The freezing looks,the glories undermined
Ill timed,ill gotten, ills both new and old,
Hedge homes where we could rest our fragile minds
I have never dwelt in realms of gold;
But there are many stories never told.
Suffering our own sentences we find
A home that welcomes, our more liberal minds.
Categories:
unwished for, absence, allusion, anxiety, trust,
Form: Villanelle