This Poet

Kevin Michael Bloor

This poet is a tragic thing,
composing with a wounded wing.
Poor bird of sorrow, caught and snared;
he’s convict in a cage who’s scared.

A sad and sickened soul, he sighs,
like skylark who no longer flies.
A graceless, grounded, direful dove
lamenting over losing love.

This poet has a morbid mind,
since love he lost he cannot find.
She haunts him like a spectral shade
by coast, on hills, down sleepy glade,

where wild he wanders, lost in prayer.
His heart is broke; his soul is bare.
The pain from long-lost love he feels,
before his goddess ghost he kneels.

  • Author: Blue-eyed Bolla (Pseudonym) (Offline Offline)
  • Published: September 28th, 2022 01:16
  • Comment from author about the poem: woe is me time
  • Category: Reflection
  • Views: 13

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