Between empty lines of tattered prose
Lies the truth of my misfortunes
A dime's worth of unseen litanies
Scatter across time's yellowed page
I might have written of youth had it not
Escaped me so quickly
Or the chores of love, mundane choices
Made in fear of being alone
Would you read such musings?
If I had inked verse of 'when I believed'
Perhaps you would see that
I really never did... and still don't.
Could you ever understand such ramblings?
I think not for their moods are sullen,
And even they refuse to fill the shell
Of who I once was.
Tattered I have become
And empty is how I choose to be
Alone in my difference
Content in my solitude
Without a dime to call my own...
The desire for artists, whether painters, sculpters or writers of poetry is to produce work that captures are thoughts and feelings and hopefully have them understood and appreciated by others. Sadly all too often the meanings are lost on the ones they are actually meant for.
hugs
Fee
For whatever reason this was written, there is truth on top of truth in each word and line. Myrna, this has to be one of your best, and that is not flattery, my sweet friend. You've given voice to what almost all serious minded writers feels at times; lost in poetic fog and mist, and not a clue as to how they got there. I bow to Ms. Master, poet profound! Love,
- Bill
...wonderful poetic expression...whether fiction or not...surely knows these words...within ones soul during ones life...but the pen of this writer...to be the one...the color of its ink...and chosen words...to speak with timeless beauty.
excellent work here Myrna...
John
Each person is but a grain of sand resting beside the sea. This thought sets the tone for Jill Eisnaugle’s latest poetry collection, Beside Still Waters.
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Cheers,
Dan
hugs
Fee
- Bill
Be always safe,
Karen
excellent work here Myrna...
John
stan