OK, I was having a bit of a Jaques Brel day when I wrote this poem. It is meant to be capable of being read to ways: as the thoughts of someone who found live close to home after looking far afield and as somebody who unexpectedly found what gave meaning to their life when more obvious ideas had fallen short.
Where were you when I was young
and bursting with the power of morning,
when passion wrote my poetry
in the sands of secret beaches,
by fast, singing streams,
and on deep, silent lakes?
And where were you when my heart
was bruised by careless handling,
when mocking laughter
pricked me like sharp thorns
and cold indifference
burned like a torturer’s iron.
Where were you on all the mornings
when I awoke next to an empty pillow
or in the immoral nights
when I kissed the bitter lips of
cold lovers who shared my bed
but could not warm it.
Where were you when I drank rare wine
and talked with philosophers
in the silence of a love forsaken city
while Orion watched and
Abraxas hid herself within
the secrets of ancient stones.
Where were you when I walked
upon the frozen sea and sang
with the voice of ancient warriors,
long ground in Hamlet’s Mill?
Only when I lay at the bottom
of a dead ocean and darkness
pressedme down as the beasts
I had challenged mocked
my helplessness did I open
my defeated eyes to find you there.
Click here to post or read comments.