It's not often that something stirs me this much, maybe because many of us could be a heartbeat away from this reality. This really heightened my senses (goose bumps!)
L

What makes the history of a Poet is not the number of pages written, but the number of souls inspired by her or his work.

Poet Keith Rowley, Your Quill leads one to cerebration, intellectual sublimation; and ontological wisdom.

"Broken Soul" inspires, edifies and shows why... It brings an assurance that "when we understand that we are the Human Race, there will be no places for Eris and Ares on this planet."

Healthy long life through a blissful creative living!

In respect and appreciation,

Andre Emmanuel Bendavi ben-YEHU

Are we the darkness that throws her away......very intriguing, BUT there is always light at the end of the tunnel - it's called Hope and all souls thrive on it!

God Bless You,
Deborah

A magnificent piece that can be taken in many different ways. All that's left after a horrible turn, is shame, and darkness, and the memories of better days. I just don't understand why in this United States of America that we let it happen. They make their own choices, yes, but not in the right state of mind.

The imagery in the first stanza sets an unshakable foundation for the development of your insight, Keith. Fictional or not; a sobering illustration of seedtime and harvest in a persons life. Altruism is woefully lacking in this shit-hole of a world system. A well balanced and rhymed story-poem. Enjoyed!

Excellently emotionalized, my heart feels for her.
Homelessness is a horrible feeling, and too
the ultimate outcome for drug addictions unfortunately
The work of the enemy steals lives anyway he can

Lost Lives Inside Lost Love
Vickie

This is reality painted with words, in every way. I love how you have sketched the many faces of drugs. I worked as a nurse in a drug & alcohol treatment center for 9 years. You have painted with perfection, the likeness of the patients...Inside and out...Marvelous..

Sandy

Great work Keith, I have seen many homeless street people, and I envisioned one while reading this. Who knows what their tales may be, but I think much like this one.
Your ending has truth as society and "the man" has forgotten her.

The U.S. just spent 6 billion landing a robot on mars.
although there will be countless advances in technology
and even in superior products, how can you compare it to
wiping out poverty or shelter the homeless?
Yes maybe we are the darkness.

Great Job Keith

Piece and love forever
dan

Trying to understand "Or are we the darkness that throws her away." In the poem she "Reaching for the love of a long lost day / For the laughter of children the dark took away."

Again she remember "days of beauty that the dark took away."

Then there is the time when her parents "when the dark took them away."

Now she is "Looking for hope that the dark took away."

And if you can believe it, she "Remembering wardrobes of furs smooth and grey / In her grand house that the dark took away."

She is old now and the darkness took her youth and beauty away.

And, of course the ending when we are asked to ponder, "Or are we the darkness that throws her away?"

Not trying to be mean here, but of all the chances she had, and she had many, isn't some of the blame for her misfortune some, or a lot, of her own? I think so.

A chilling tale you have told. How life (the dark) can take away and leave you out in the cold. We must be willing to help if we can (and I have). “For there but for fortune go you or I.”

Ron

Although this is almost medieval like in it's presentation, I can't help thinking metaphorically there are so many seniors out there even today, going through very similiar circumstances.
fee

I'm flattened. This is a gasp of a great poem in my eyes, flawlessly delivering the vision. The form, the flow, the resounding "....that the dark took away." You have neither said too much, nor too little and saw with three eyes. I feel no melodrama here, and no contrivance, which is astonishing if this was not a physically-present vision, but one imagined. (The only suggestion I have is about the title: it places the crux of this piece in front of our minds, and I think it has its greatest power at the end.) How beautifully this poem exudes abundant tenderness; and the craft of your vocabulary choice in expressing this reaches fathoms deep into the word well, to bring up the most effective ones. That last line.....leaves me staring. Excellent. ~~ Diana

well said, enjoyed the read

m