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