In quiet resignation I,
Rotate an aging year.
The sigh of half a decade
Dissolves between my ears.
The thrill of adoration;
The make of word and bread;
Friendship so blood dear to me -
Its import can't be read.
Discovery and tenderness,
Revelation and mime;
Long nights sharing guarded pain,
The craft of filling time.
The wrench of coming tragedy,
The loss of rhyme and way;
Confusion so encompassing -
On love there's naught to say.
Precautions too uneasy,
Forgetfulness and mime;
Long nights throwing burning blame,
The curse of hoarding time.
The pain of distant apathy
Turns all tongues into lead;
Specters so blood lost to me,
Their names go on unsaid.
I write this resignation then,
To slow the coming spring;
A tiny hope I harbor,
For hollow soul to sing.
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Comments1
Brilliant!
(and a much belated
Happy New Year!
dear Poet, thanks for sharing)
'Discovery and tenderness,
Revelation and mime;
Long nights sharing guarded pain,
The craft of filling time.
The wrench of coming tragedy,
The loss of rhyme and way;
Confusion so encompassing -
On love there's naught to say.'
Thank you so much, as always mek. : )
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