Sunday, February 27, 2011

Why I Don't Write Poetry 2011-2

I sit with my head in my hands
Life slipping by,
Not knowing where it will land.

The wind is blowing the dust
To regions yet unseen,
Upon my heart, a dagger is thrust.

The wounds are deep
Though the bleeding shallow,
Bandages wet and seep.

Upon each the time has come
Slowly, one by one.
The slow cadence of a bass drum.

The pain is eased, the light turns bright
Such is the seasons of life.
Such is why I fight.

4 comments:

Shaddy aka Cheryl said...

Have you lost someone dear? If so, I'm glad you put your thoughts and feelings into this poem.

I thank God for the easing of your pain and the light thats turned bright on your soul.

Keep fighting, Walk. When your arms grow weary, we're here to help you hold them up.

Walk said...

No, I haven't lost anyone, just reading too much Poe. :>)

Gullible said...

Yes, indeedy. Poe will do that to you. Perhaps you should try a dose of Thurber.

Walk said...

Don't know Gully, I scared to read anything right now....