Something happened that summer
The rains didn’t come nor did the birds
Slowly I lost it, slowly I crumbled
Details vanished so did the rhythm
What little I had I lost it to the storm
Letters were forgotten, faces erased
One fine day I woke up and saw not myself
A phantom in disguise
I thought of the convictions I had
Searched them in the drawers
My notebooks, my sharpened pencils
In the line of books I proudly possessed
They were all gone
I cried in agony, cursed myself
I stopped asking, I stopped praying
But silently time healed my wounds
In between pages I found happiness again
Now I walk through a ladybird path
They die crushed under by feet
I walk away shuddering to a point on the horizon
What brings me here?
She calls it a twist of fate
Sighing she says
Who knows how much suffering is written in your part?
2 responses so far ↓
D // April 16, 2009 at 2:14 pm |
Who knows how much suffering is written in your part?
that’s such a tragic end
though the entire poem looks like a reflection of your melancholy soul to me…
james // April 16, 2009 at 9:50 pm |
i like the image of someone rummaging for their convictions! keep on writing