My poet friends, I’m ailing.
some sickness, stern and silent
has found me, and I’m failing
to still this storm so violent
in my soul.
My goddesses – the Muses.
(I’d met while waves were weeping)
My rhymes, if one peruses,
will shout: “these girls are sleeping
in your soul!”
My life’s a solemn sonnet,
a desert bleak and barren.
No flower grows upon it,
no royal rose of Sharon
like of old.
My lines of youthful yearning
have lost their gleam and glimmer.
My verse, once bright and burning,
exudes a sluggish shimmer
oh, so cold.
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Author:
Blue-eyed Bolla (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: May 13th, 2025 02:37
- Comment from author about the poem: My Poems post-heart attack
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 9
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, Cheeky Missy
Offline)
Comments5
Once the words came like rivers,
flooding the mind with restless light.
Now, silence hums between my thoughts,
a weight, a waiting, where nothing sparks,
only reverberating after sounds remain.
Many thanks, A.
Most welcome Kššš»
Beautiful! And still gleaming and glimmering!
Many thanks, Victor. Much appreciated.
Though referring to a sad occurance with health, this is beautifully written .
Thank you, PL.
You are very welcome
Very identifiable set in such nice wording for this a fave.
Thank you, SB. Much appreciated.
You are not so antiquated as you feel. You've only strayed far from that elixir which would ransom you. Or are you teetering on the brink of actual death and this is your last goodbye? Whatever the case, this pretty number is gorgeously rendered with superb imagery and a charming, painful poignancy. Thank you for sharing.
Many thanks, Cheeky M. Mercifully, I am on the road to recovery! 7 weeks on from my heart incident. Thank you for your kind comments and for taking the time.
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