Desolation invaded the mind like a plague,
Loss an ocean that brings waves of fever,
Cresting hot then falling into troughs of cold,
A trance settles moving from light to darkness.
The house was all but empty and felt dead,
A snow hut in winter with perpetual winds.
A gaping hole in life that will not soon be filled,
He needed a patch to cover up what lies missing,
A needle to sow the frayed threads of his life.
Winds howl through the empty places in his mind,
Loss is but a mist that crawls through the shadows.
A desire for something we were not meant to have,
He thought it was love but now he knows it was haunting.
He releases his loss to a graveyard of forgotten memory,
By the wind grieved, a faint sigh heard, a ghost seen,
Only to disappear into the shadows, losing its gleam.
Here, anticipation meets actuality head on, leaving the reader pondering his or her own desires not meant to have. There is wisdom in the statement, for to spend one's life reaching for the unreachable is indeed to become lost in shadows. You've penned a wise perception. Thank you.
often in life we lose hope when life's passions die, if we are strong of spirit we rise above if not, we sink into the graveyard of emotions, no wonder we have such great artists and poets around, sending love and fav's xo
Robin Ouzman Hislop's poetry is certainly in dialogue with some of the key architects of the 'poetics of indeterminacy' – both the Modernist strands represented by the likes of Beckett and Stein, and the postmodernist strands represented, initially,
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Love ya!
Jane
There is an emptiness of something left out of a life that is longed for in the words but never fulfilled.
Ron