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J. Allen Wilson

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Books by J. Allen Wilson
  Beneath The Dead Lilacs Of My Silent Past
by J. Allen Wilson
Tuesday, April 19, 2005
Not rated by the Author.

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Recent poems by J. Allen Wilson
•  Sad But True
•  A Tribute to Clint…
•  JD’s Rose - Nicole
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           >> View all 1,553

Beneath The Dead Lilacs Of My Silent Past



Oh, how I have known the times of laughter and of days well spent.

As I have also known those of compassion and of sorrowful lament.

I have drank my share from this paupers cup of this timid and meager life,

I have given of my all, yet now I lay aquiver in the shallow fields of budding strife.

For my days, unfold now before me like fresh washed sheets on a summer's line,

as a soft smell of lilac clings fast to the air, erasing all semblance of my time.

Bedazzled is my frazzled mind…  all cast into a mixed up jumble

 I trip, I stumble and slowly beneath oppressions face I crumble.

 Oh how blindly through this darkness do I grope,

 whilst I climb the face of insincerities shear and slippery slope.

For now, forever, this measure of faux hope

lay broken in black shards beneath my feet.

 I shuffle to and fro, desperately clinging to an imaginary dream.

 It is so plain now for me to see,

that I have become oblivious to this misery

for life has become full of obligatory pain.

and to me… it now sadly seems to be all the same.

So, in deference to this day, and in the black silence of my ill regard of the night,

I shall no longer rebuff my incubus, which has run to halt my future sight.

For it has descended upon this hapless and sleeping soul,

Oppressing not only in spirit but body and mind in whole.

For thereunto will this wisp of hallowed shade fall,

Beneath the lilac, which blows deep from within sorrows call.

Beneath a billowing rage of sleeping time,

 which is no longer viable, which is no longer mine.

I shall give unto a time that escapes into a land of no more tomorrows

For I fall quickly,…I fall fast…

and to the east of tomorrow,

I shall conclude my journey in its transparent sorrow,

Beneath the dead lilacs of my silent past.


J. Allen Wilson © 2005


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Reviewed by Dawn Richerson 4/20/2005
Beneath a billowing rage of sleeping time,
which is no longer viable, which is no longer mine.

these words are representative of an entire poem filled with words planted deep and they are words alive with voice and your presence here, now. blessings,
Reviewed by Antoinette Kopperfield 4/20/2005
A great outpouring...Felt within the depths and core of the heart. A truly moving write with emotion and beauty. Keep writing...
Reviewed by Tracey L. O' Very (Reader) 4/20/2005
Very Emotional and heart touching,
Thank You Allen
Reviewed by Felix Perry 4/20/2005
Deluxe meal of poetry, supersized of course.

Reviewed by jude forese 4/19/2005
passionate, revealing and honest ... powerful flow of images and emotions ...
Reviewed by m j hollingshead 4/19/2005
well done
Reviewed by E T Waldron 4/19/2005
Allen, such perfection of verse must be in print! I'm awed by the

exquisite eloquence with which you wrote this extraordinary poem!

One of your best! Bravo!


Reviewed by Ed Matlack 4/19/2005
Dead lilacs they won't be, if under them you have been placed for the dead make the best mulch...;)Ed
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