I have never been a big fan of poetry, neither the reading nor the writing of it. The very few and very brief poems on this page comprise the entire output of my adult life. I'm certain that I was required to write some poetry during my school years but I know of none that may have survived beyond that time. So why is this here? There are the few bits of writing that slipped out in poetic form and I liked them well enough to save them in this deserted corner.
Is a poem without rhythm or rhyme
Mistakes were made. People running. Fear!
This poem was written in the midst of the experiences described in
She sees the world through a hundred eyes. Its evil and lies are no surprise To this one to whom love came late. All see alike an anguished landscape Time does not work here, Then minutes dragged eternally Now weeks pass in the blink of an eye; The pain lives on with new names like fear. The girl's young wisdom was purchased With the currency of pain, fear, and loneliness. Broad spaces and close alike are where fear lives. Good and evil, love and hate, right and wrong, All were woven into the same fabric; Even her kaleidoscope eyes could Not discern which was where. A friend came who claimed To bring the gift of love. She could not believe her eyes; Her eyes could not believe. Her little-girl hands now love To make things of beauty of The fragments of life they left her. She dreams — of a place where time works, Of a time when each place is safe; Fear will be confidence and despair will be hope — A singular vision. Growing up now is so much more Than not growing up then. Her fragility is becoming power, Her dream is waking to a new reality. Soon The dream will be transposed to substance. Nightmares no more will rend her vision Of beauty in the world or her experience of Love.
©2022 🅭🅯🄏🄎 Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International (CC BY-NC-SA 4.0)
Search this site at marginalia.nu