Out of the depths of my soul, simply soaring.
Poems, like prayers, they are pumping and pouring.
Kissing the pages, baptising with beauty,
telling a tale of a tough tour of duty.
From the abyss, where my feelings were ravaged,
sonnets ascend from a soul that was savaged.
Lines laid down lonely that no one is reading,
stanzas in ink that the poet is bleeding.
Born from above in the land of the breathing.
Surging like sea when it’s storm-tossed and seething.
Tranquil, sometimes, like the swish of the ocean,
calm and composed with a mild-mannered motion.
Spilt like the tears from a sad willow weeping.
Pain has congealed, but the sorrow's still seeping.
Out of the depths, where the poet’s reposing,
cast out and cursed for the ‘crime’ of composing!
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Author:
Blue-eyed Bolla (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: June 15th, 2022 01:41
- Comment from author about the poem: de profundis - from the depths
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 9
Offline)
Comments2
Profound in fathomless depths. Catchy title as well, Wilde, was it again. It’s been long waiting for a 21st century voice. Thanks for sharing.
Many thanks, yeah, poor old Oscar. Appreciate your feedback. Didn't think I'd get much response using that title. Glad you liked.
Must admit I’m enjoying your compositions!
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