What I seek disappears without a trace,
Leaving only puzzlement behind on my face.
My fervent desire seems to pass thru a filter,
Covered in frost brushed by the wind of winter.
In its place hums a refrain of song in my head,
Without a trace of warmth left behind instead.
In our youth, our dreams made of clouds of hope,
Old age brings along shrouds made of frayed rope.
To which we cling with no further hope of repair,
Only a lingering certitude in the ghost of despair.
I sit down at the kitchen table to sip a cup of tea,
When a calico cat jumps on my lap to stare at me.
There in her eyes lies a hope that brightens her face,
A reminder that does leave behind more than a trace.
Odd that pet owners pets seem to know when we are ill or depressed. They do make people feel better and lower blood pressure. As we all know, many hospitals use pets to lower anxiety and blood pressure. Excellent write........much to think about!
Pets are the ultimate in innocence. They live only for the moment and they accept love, unconditionally. Therefore, when we are down and thinking badly about our future, when they come into our presence (present) they make us feel good, merely because they appear to have empathy and caring.
I'm more a dog person, but that's not to say I don't like cats, I've just never owned one. Your poem has two lines which really bring your inner self home to me. I can always find something in your poetry which captures my heart, such as . . .
"In our youth, our dreams made of clouds of hope,
Old age brings along shrouds made of frayed rope."
Being a cat person, I loved the picture as well as your ending lines. But I also think the same could be said about any pet or even many wild animals that we can form a connection with, And who can resist the joy a child can bring when they climb into our lap, and look into our eyes.
I so adore cats, they are affectionate beings that see beyond the earthly masquerades of man. As we age we become like frayed ropes, shredded here and there, but still we cling and stay bound to the filaments of rope that still bind us , strong is the word that comes to mind. (beat) goes the heart. Til' death imparts. Until then, keep roping me into your poetry, it is rich in texture John, Love and hugs.
Dear readers, this is my third book of poems, and inside are a special collection of what have turned out to be not only MY personal favorites, but also the favorites of many of YOU. Some of these have never been available in print before...
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Love ya!
Jane
Ron
"In our youth, our dreams made of clouds of hope,
Old age brings along shrouds made of frayed rope."