My muse is quiet, it whispers not
It draws me not into the past.
Perhaps that means my pain's forgot
And I am free at last.
Each day a cautious step remains
Each foot so gently placed
Hoping that the past retains
No ache that's not erased.
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Author:
Jabberwocky (
Online) - Published: October 15th, 2026 09:10
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 2
Online)
Comments1
A sad but at the same time hopeful poem where poetry is based upon a sad past that now seems forgotten. The power of pain lost and so its words as well. Emotion drives the poets windmills and when the breeze stops so do they. I have worked with dementia patients that have forgotten their past and pain and in some ways that is a blessing but the concomitant loss makes them not the same. In this conflict if given the choice I would choose the pain for in it there is a sweetness. Here is wishing the muse's return.
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