This is my winter, this is my sleep
This is the misery beneath the deep
Mud
This is the debauchery of my youth
The whispering, cunning of the sleuth
Rape
The ocean of my patience surged
But a handful rose from the submerged
Spring
I watch them cry a lake of dreams
Their voices calm, but echo screams
Hope
My heart and beauty full of dust
My art concealed beneath the rust
Storm
Oh fair and luminous hand of Might
Where is the day that this will right
Again
My secret.
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1 comment:
This is so unusual and creative. It dips into the seasons and then leaves abruptly. Yep, you did study the wrong thing at university!!! Your silence is golden and your poetry has power. How nice to know you in this way.
And now housework awaits.... ugh.... been procrastinating on that too long.
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