Old eyes peer out from winter's penury,
Draped in familiar soft sorrow,
The cat creeps on, inflicting time's injury,
Once sculptured we neglect tomorrow,
And recline in constant muse.
The agile days when glory filled the air,
When life erupted with song,
Drift like chimney smoke to nowhere,
Again we coil as if it's wrong,
The cat urges us to rise but we refuse.
There waits the cat, in silence
It's still moment lacks blood or energy,
But hidden deep in it's patience
There is a hint of melancholy.
A tale that annoys yet was meant to amuse.
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Author:
David Wakeling (
Offline) - Published: May 3rd, 2025 00:15
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 34
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
Offline)
Comments3
They always wait in stalking silence these felines. 🙏🏻🕊️
That is so true.Thanks for your comments mi amigo
Most welcome mate🙏🏻🕊️
Good write D.
Thank you so much
David this one is subtle and must be read aloud to be appreciated. The rhyme scheme itself is complex and unconventional but works so well with the message. The metaphor is deeper than surface view. It holds a philosophical meaning and emotionally can be felt with a bit of sorrow. A definite fave
I think you are right.Reading poems out loud is so much better.Thanks for your insightful comments
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