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At Dusk with Melancholy and Sorrow
We've come to that time of day when I ask
the questions I know will be forgotten
and I listen to the syllables of
your discontent as they puddle into
the space we've built between our severed lives.
And I am awestruck that the inertia
of our tired misery has kept us here
while happiness and bliss and every good
thing dances in our vision and softly
whispers its promises of contentment.
There is no surprise at your reaction
when I seek some small amount of comfort
with people who do not cultivate hate
or take pleasure in creating despair
or just merely enjoy my company.
And as the years slipped into a future
where I smiled more and anguished so much less
the unfounded accusations became
so commonplace and the threats so welcome
that your departure was a thing of joy.
Comments
Ian.T
Fri, 2014-03-21 04:42
Jonathan
I liked this theme, it shows how some hold onto nothing yet can still smile and grit their teeth when happiness is scattered before their feet.
Friends shunned, a way of hiding feelings, I so hope this is fiction but cannot see this being written so by anyone, other than the first person.
There are two roads here that we travel, one of the day to day mundane incessant chatter of sparrows or the other where in your mind you can hear the glorious dawn chorus.
That your mind is strong enough to choose is good.
Take care out there, the roads may split and leave you with a better choice,
Yours Ian.T
.
There are a million reasons to believe in yourself,
So find more reasons to believe in others..
weirdelf
Fri, 2014-03-21 08:29
I have loved your recent works
and this especially. It is not schadenfreude, rather a complicity in vulnerability.
If I may offer my reading?
http://vocaroo.com/i/s1zfZr1Qj7O1
cheers,
Jess
A new workshop on the most important element of poetry-
'Rhythm and Meter in Poetry'
https://www.neopoet.com/workshop/rhythm-and-meter-poetry
Pugilist
Fri, 2014-03-21 10:07
Thank you.
That was very well read.
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Jonathan Moore
Esker
Sat, 2014-03-22 00:15
river of tears
the typewriter secured to the ankles
the steady traffic a whirr
a blurr
and the night filled with stars
and bliss
like a watery world
a waiting rest of tomb
this poem doesnt shatter
like rust never sleeps
there is agony
anguish and great love
in loss
majestic losers
living
so the winners
may perish
in their triumph
and fade
like trumpets
at the gates
the ruin of love
...
Pugilist
Sat, 2014-03-22 08:18
Thank you.
Thank you.
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Jonathan Moore