So Sad Today…Lost In Monet

Joy is but a lost dream…I feel, but I feel not a single thing.

Hope is scattered in colorful pixels across the canvas of my life.

For I live in the surreal world of Monet and his abstract dreams.

I see the birds and beautiful trees; I see blue skies and butterflies.

Yet smiles evade me though I see these wondrous and beautiful things.

I can’t explain the tears which fall unexpectedly from my eyes.

I feel like a feather tied to a stone sinking and sinking into the receding tide.

I feel winter’s call; I feel it’s cold and icy grip upon my soul.

I search evermore for higher ground; broken only by the moon’s trance unfound.

Help…help screams these muted lips; help though dies in the solitary dearth of my cry.

Too much to bear; too much is this lonesome and abstract pain.

Where in the hell am I sometimes I ask?

Too much…Too much lain at my feet, too much to hold to task.

Now this hour I hear the beat of this turbulent hearts sound.

I seek my secret garden to which I shall lay to rest, never to be found.

When shall it end…these tears in which of openly do cry?

Will it be upon the flagstone path marked by the solitary stone?

The granite stone which proclaims that this soul lived and died?

Will this be the conclusion to a story sadly written on the canvas of Monet where another unknown soul silently cries?

J. Allen Wilson © 7/29/2011