The deepest corners of cavernous caves
The depths of oceans the crests of waves
The weeping willow, the hardened beech
Are all within the writers reach.
But dark lost soul, emotions bold
Shifting sands, trembling hands
Racing heart and gasping breath
Are all the writers desk of death.
To capture briefly passing mist
That fades away to ghostly twist
Grasping air through fingers slip
Like reaching out for distant ships
Emotions hard to pen on page
Results in heart arresting rage
Express the passion once felt young
The hope of what I may become.
But reflecting in the mirror pool
The old man looks back like a fool
And clenches fists as if in rage
Of creeping off the worldly page
Look right now to see the pillow
Lovers hair draped like the willow
Sun and shadow through the blinds
I know now, that life is mine.
21/08/2021. 21:45-22:06
No comments:
Post a Comment