I am yet what I am none cares or knows;
My friends forsake me as a memory lost:
I am the self-consumer of my woes
They rise and vanish in oblivious host,
Like shadows in love’s frenzied stifled throes
And yet I am, and live like vapors tossed
Into the nothingness of scorn and noise,
Into the living sea of waking dreams,
Where there is neither sense of life or joys,
But the vast shipwreck of my life’s esteems;
Even the dearest that I loved the best
Are strange nay, rather, stranger than the rest.
I long for scenes where man hath never trod
A place where woman never smiled or wept
There to abide with my Creator, God,
And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept,
Untroubling and untroubled where I lie
The grass below above the vaulted sky.
-
Author:
Henry Canticle (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: March 13th, 2019 21:54
- Comment from author about the poem: Yet another depressing poem after 2 hours of crying on Monday night. Enjoy.
- Category: Sad
- Views: 29
Offline)
Comments3
Well, I can definitely see the reflection of what the narrator thinks of themselves. That much is clear. If such a place existed it would be off limits to the presence of man. Oh well, I'm sure a place like that exists. I enjoyed the read, and best regards. May the next poem be one of triumph and joy.
That's the hope
An expressive poem. Yes indeed! May next poem be cheery, and canticle-like.
Thank you for your hope
I like it; I think it's very beautiful.
Thank You!
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