The beginning of
The slow decline
The faceless face
Of father time
The invisible pain
In tightened knots
Doubts uncertainty
Endless loss.
Alone in crisis
An uncaring day
Head in hands
A price to pay
All before
Now to seem
A nightmare dressed
In rolled up sleeves.
A battered chair
A wooden soul
Hardened like
The nails that hold
Depression falls
The darkening cloud
The silent scream
That pines and howls.
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Author:
nephilim56 ( Norman Dickson) (
Online) - Published: March 28th, 2026 02:32
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 43
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, Carlos Alberto BUSTILLOS
Online)
Comments4
Good write N. Is that someone who they got a chair for them to sit on as they took so long standing around waiting for the No.7 bus, and 'fell to pieces'?! lol.
you would need an armchair and flask and sandwiches waiting for no 7 lol
lol. Yes, I waited 3 hours at a bus stop (did I? lol). Someone passed by and said 'Oh, they've changed the route now. Doh!
then 3 come along at once lol
I love the way that you have woven this poem not only from a faithfulness to the painting but its apparent emotion as well and threads of other paintings the scream by Munch. In good rhyme you do justice to this work. A fave
thanking you, I am always nervy when I do a poem about a painting, much appreciated
You are most welcome no need to be nervy when it is not the painting that you are touching but that it is the painting that is touching you.
you are right, just go with my flow thanks
Love it! You said so much in a few words. Big fan of brevity. Thanks for sharing!.
Katie
Kind comments, thanking you and always appreciated
That eternity will be there for us all Norman but hopefully we will reach it in a happy state.
Andy
thanks for reading always appreciated
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