Rain on my window mimics the grief that hides under pillows.
Why can it not quell the fires that fester,
Building bitterness, with no relief from confused emoting,
Lack of acceptance…
This is done now.
Let others sleep while you keen.
Do so quietly,
Like a ghost.
.
.
.
J:
ReplyDeleteLife does not need to be this depressing. I've been there - went thru four long, difficult years of counseling - and have walked thru the fire and onto the welcoming sands on the other side. I'm here to soothe, console, cajole, prod, caress, provide a shoulder, or just sit quietly by.
I love your writing style! And I feel the deep emotion that lies just underneath.
Take care, till we meet again.
g
Thanks, G, for the comment. As we later discussed, this poem is not about ("happy go-lucky") me. The ability to write about the burning depths of the soul is part of the poet's prerogative. The fact that I was able to express this with the appearance of reality is a boost to my confidence in creating. (Boy that was a mouthful.)
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