Left here in land of hill and peak,
where storms of sorrow slyly seek
to weary me and weigh me down:
I never chose this tortured town!
These song birds, blown upon the wing,
they squawk and sway, but rarely sing.
Since bleakness blinds them, blinds me too:
turns sapphire skies to black from blue!
Left here to age, while clouds race by,
I wait, as one by one they die:
those vestiges of youthful dreams
that flow away like sea-bound streams.
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Author:
Blue-eyed Bolla (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: March 23rd, 2024 11:31
- Comment from author about the poem: Just penned this down by the canal in Whaley Bridge - sad reflections on my lonely life
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 2
Offline)
Comments1
Great write as usual. I have moments like that - the irritation builds and motivation asserts itself once more....
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