I have stains upon my person in the ink of sadness,
permanently marked on ruddy surface, worn so thin;
could you save me from these signs of madness,
can you wash them from my skin?
I have holes worn in my spirit from constantly rubbing against time;
no longer a contest, less than a race.
Could you replace the wasted hours, redraw the line,
can you wash this weariness from my face?
I still wear the striping from the cruelest of whippings,
as punishment for character that I somehow lacked.
I begin to lose my grip on worldly things;
can you erase this telltale striping from my back?
This she left me and thus cursed me, timeless vengeance;
left to weather sleepless nights, possessions scattered.
Replaying songs of how she left, wondering where she has been since,
as if this somehow even mattered.
I have her likeness seared on bone inside my skull, upon my brain.
Keeper of the sanity gate tips his hat, collects his toll.
The smile still haunts me, heart is ache side out again,
can you wash her from my soul?
Could you just let the fire consume me,
or can you wash her from my soul?
-
Author:
Dan Williams (
Offline) - Published: August 5th, 2024 23:08
- Comment from author about the poem: From a very bad stretch, could find little happy or comfort. More lost love, from me.
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 30
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, Bella Shepard
Offline)
Comments5
I like the way you create a commanding mood and shift into asking question. As if you know the metaphorical stain is yours until you cope or deal and those questions might have been just to announce and to gather
Thank you much. When I wrote this I had no idea of what a metaphor even was. Not sure if I ever did cope or deal.
One foot in front of the other
if this disclosure all wrapped in a poem is autobiographical then it must have been close to devastating ..
I trust you have now moved on .. Now wishing you All Good Things, Neville
Not sure if I have moved on, or if I ever will. I know, self pity is unbecoming. Thanks though.
This poem reeks with pain. This I believe is one of my favorite of yours. It begins so powerfully and the rhyme and rhythm aid in the building emotion. Word choice is superb. If I may be so bold, watch the repetition of words and phrases. By my definition this is definitely a piece of art. Brilliant!
So, high praise from you, sorenbarrett, makes my day. Thank you, again. Useful criticism is always welcome, seems in short supply around here, please feel free.
The pain seems overwhelming, but you write it out of you, instead of letting it lie in wait, and I think that's a positive thing. Your fingers on the keys perhaps begin to let go of what is pent up inside. A very powerful and truthful write my friend.
You people are embarrassing me. I guess after fifty some years of trying I should produce a winner or two. Like the monkey at the typewriter who eventually types his name. Thank you.
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