Trapped and cornered,
Reviewing one's life is easy.
Opportunities missed or not taken,
Seem eons away.
Senses hightened to failures endured,
Bring torment to my darkness.
Such is my prison,
These bars of my own making,
Cast a mocking shadow of shame.
No flowers line life's path here,
Dogwoods do not bloom here.
Spring does not come to concrete.
Only grey walls a bleak existence hail,
Screams in the night echo fears,
As time drags.
Scary! I visited Alcatraz in 1980 during a family reunion in Northern California. Pretty sobering experience...You described it perfectly...I can't imagine what it would have been like for prisoners back in the days when it was a functional place.
Imagine a wet foxhole and a night jungle, like a prison, with thick bamboo bars and the echoes from no man's land of long ago dead soldiers.
Yes, locked away, like this poem pointing with a literary finger...
walls constructed with the sweat of our own misguided labors -- treasonous acts we directed at the core of our own lives -- what fools, looking back gave us the unrestricted view to see -- I like this one Walter -- it has some grit to it my friend -- peace and love be always with you -- Jon Michael
What Felix said times 10, plus I know exactly how you feel, I think...each day changes our feelings, I know I notice the difference in myself daily...Find Peace, Walt, & good to see you writing...ed
If you tend to believe romantic, passionate, masculine poetry is a thing of past eras, read "She Intrigues Me," and be swept away in the beautiful craft of a contemporary poet of love.
Questions, unquestioned discoveries, and answers in parable and rhyme…. This collection records a journey starting with a 1960s retrospective and the first man on the moon, moving to a new millennium welcomed in with a terrorist spin, family crises,
The songs and art in this book are about our collective emergence after the pandemic and trauma of the last few years - comprised of 5 collections: World as Refuge, Where We Live, In Our Hands, Rhythms of Change and What We See & Sow.
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Anna
Yes, locked away, like this poem pointing with a literary finger...
Georg
fee
Love,
Susan