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Open Poetry #49
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The Student
| Open Poetry #49 |
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The Student |
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Michael
Moderator
Member Rara Avis
since 1999-08-13
Posts 7666California 
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The Student …So now he walks, ever unsated, Over the wastelands he created. All he's cherished, behind him, dead. The echoesresound in his head. And with no shade for one to rest, ‘Continues on, if cursed or blessed… Answer lying somewhere, out there, 'Cross the searing sands of Despair. The sun, lingering, guides him on, But a distant silhouette drawn As buzzards hover in the sky— Patiently await him to die. And he wonders what they must think, To see this man pushed past the brink... As he lives on, all else so grim, Does Death just refuse to take him? And if so, where is it he’s going? As he wanders on, never knowing If he’s beyond the point of caring If life would even be worth sharing. For he recalls that paradise Is not obtained without a price— The years he spent yielding that due, Refusing to believe it true— The day it was first seen by him, The flower he cut at the stem; Still so fragrant—so beautiful, He never understood the rule. How, daily, he just watched it wither, Deprived of life he couldn’t deliver. How no amount of hope forestalls The agony slow death enthralls Its victims with—its witnesses— Every living thing it kisses. How the color of life bleeds away To some ill-fated shade of gray. Where, with eyes closed, nothing seems changed As he continues on, estranged; Through a world he wants no part of, For it could not teach him to love. Michael Anderson |
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| © Copyright 2015 Michael Anderson - All Rights Reserved | |||
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Sunshine
Administrator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-06-25
Posts 63354Listening to every heart |
Excellent as always, Michael. |
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BluesSerenade Member Patricius
since 2001-10-23
Posts 10549By the Seaside |
So sad to read... as always one cannot come away after reading your poetry without feeling the angst. You are a master poet in spite of your heavy heart. |
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Redstart Senior Member
since 2014-05-16
Posts 535 |
Desperately melancholy, but the poem moves as smoothly as quicksilver. Most accomplished poetry. |
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