Crumb.
Like that broken biscuit left there in the barrel
Reduced to nothing but a crumb
Not sad, nor abandoned or forgotten.
Silent, resolute,numb.
Like the echoes from a tombstone or a cavern.
You’re pleading for your yesterdays return.
The echoes of your life subdued and barron
Woefully you look back and you yearn.
When all you have to fight with is your anger.
On the darkest and the coldest winter’s night.
When your final embers smoulder in the fire.
Defeated and dejected by the fight.
Smiling to disguise the way you’re feeling
LIke trying to get back into the race.
Pretending that the world is on you side
Overwhelmed and beaten by the pace.
When you realise the good times are behind you.
That the mountain that you’ve climbed is at its peak.
When every day you hope that someone finds you.
Tongue tied with the words you long to speak.
You convince the world you have all bases covered.
Assure yourself that you’ll come out on top.
Another you will soon be rediscovered.
Longing for the misery to stop.
You climb a mountain that is never ending.
Thoughts hit like a corkscrew through your head.
You feel your spirit rising then descending.
Desolated,Devastated, Dead.
-
Author:
Chris Duffy (
Offline) - Published: March 15th, 2023 22:37
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 12
- Users favorite of this poem: L. B. Mek
Offline)
Comments3
O death, where is your sting? O grave where is your victory?
Yep. Something like that.
Feels like a counter to Kipling's 'If' - and quite possibly the more realistic, Chris.
Thank you Dave.
Very high praise indeed.
Love his cakes !!!!
'Death be not proud' John Dunne
(we curate our best yields
after erupting with our lava frustrations
upon our path in life, planting rage
to grow trees of resolve
and eventually, maybe even be gifted
with a harvest of that we cherish most
hope, untainted by that weary in life...)
a great write! thanks for sharing dear poet
Thank you my friend.
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