Alone upon this wretched stone,
Contorted, bent and torn, paper-like ragged clothing.
We are the universal ashes, the brotherless bone,
Utter from hearts made barren by their loathing.
So sands soak seas, and grasses devour the sun.
Still are we not orphaned by apathetic tides?
That kiss and tickle, dampening our ambition.
And reminding us with the toll, that within us dread presides.
Broken sickles warily monument this soil.
Weakened authors draw visions of a new land,
But stand bare-faced and burnt, tormented in toil.
Yet and yes, with softness I will kiss your hand,
My love seclusion, let us exhaust ourselves together.
-
Author:
David Wakeling (
Offline) - Published: February 27th, 2026 00:00
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 24
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, Poetic Licence
Offline)
Comments2
Intriguing wording pervades this poem with a strength that walks from the past. It is rugged but storm tossed. A pioneer, explorer and farmer, a settler in barren land. Metaphors of a strange taste fill its lines. Well done a fave
Thank you so much. You're right about the old fashioned style. Your comments are always thoughtful
You are most welcome David
For some reason this reminded me of slavery times in the past, two people in love being made to work out in the sun and on the land. A feeling they could not declare or show their love, hence the title, interesting and enjoyable read.
Yes that is a good interpretation.Thank you so much
Your very welcome
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