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Michael

Moderator

Member Rara Avis

since 1999-08-13

Posts 7666
California

0 posted 2014-07-12 11:48 PM

Wrong

The voices sing for me once more,
I capture what I can.
The joy the bring— hope they implore
Upon this broken man,
Shall feed this hollow soul its boon
As distant angels hark...
The moment ending much too soon,
I wither in the dark.

Yet hold to thought one question asked,
"What is it you most rue?"
The answer might leave me unmasked,
This much I know is true.
But of the nothing come to mind,
Met with a shoulder shrug;
One wonders still what they might find
Beneath this dancer's rug.

And so, as night gives way to day,
It's there my hunger sleeps.
A voice of silence I obey,
While that of longing weeps
To walk the withered trail of dream,
All shadows tall and rife;
Through the rictus of soundless scream,
For all I rue is life!

Paced by indigenous discord,
I lay my trophies down.
There is no need to wield a sword,
Or bear some tarnished crown.
As images pass, one by one,
Trapped, of hope, to their lies;
All seeming to ask what I've done
Within those sightless eyes...

...That cannot beyond their sin.
...That cannot see the hell
That they've painted themselves within,
Not so much as a knell.
I turn to look the other way—
Sing isolation's song.
As life fades to a blur of gray,
This much I won't get wrong.

Michael Anderson

7/12/2014

...How many hours of night or day
In those suspended pangs I lay,
I could not tell; I scarcely knew
If this were human breath I drew...

Byron

Lori Grosser Rhoden
Member Patricius

since 2009-10-10

Posts 10202
Fair to middlin' of nowhere

1 posted 2014-07-13 07:23 AM

you never cease to amaze me with your intricate
wording. Masterful work as always!

Lori

JerryPat2
Member Laureate

since 2011-02-06

Posts 16975
South Louisiana

2 posted 2014-07-13 08:40 AM

Taking it to the beast itself in this one Michael, i.e., life. When we are a wounded bird, n'er more to fly, all we can do is look back and sob, look forward to shattered dreams.

~*~ When politicians give up on liberty, it falls to poets to preserve it. Or write its epitaph. ~*~

jwesley
Member Rara Avis

since 2000-04-30

Posts 7563
Spring, Texas

3 posted 2014-07-13 11:00 AM

Enjoyed, as always, your words, though I disagree with the end - there is never a right, because, unfortunately at times, there's always other souls involved.

j.

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