Caroline Gates
What has become of my unshed tears
Do they remain within, fossilized and mute?
I claw futilely at my wrists wishing that I could
Pluck them free as if a quill or a splinter
Yet they remain ripping holes in all my dreams
*
There is loneliness in futility
In the relentless casting of soiled dress
I’ve been too long a daughter
What emergency now remains
That I should be obliged to exit?
I can assure myself of a pulse
And yet life still does not carry on
For I have not been trained in life
Only in the alternate, survival
*
I also wrote a poem at Curious Scribbles today and another group of short poems I was going to post but then I wrote this and decided to go with this
Advertisements
Very powerful, unique and great economy and precision for such a deep and emotive subject! 🙂
Thank you very much Helen
This was well executed.
Thank you =)
Good stuff there Yves.
Thank you Laurie =)
Welcome.
“I claw futilely at my wrists wishing that I could
Pluck them free as if a quill or a splinter
Yet they remain ripping holes in all my dreams” – such a raw and powerful way to describe ones most deep insides. I liked the ending as well especially.
Thank you so much Oloriel!
Very touching words, I truly liked this poem, it really moved me while I read it.
That means a lot to me M.Z. your words thank you
whew…vivid…esp that opening gambit…trying to claw out the tears like a quill or a splinter….very effective….and emotive…
Thank you Brian I am glad you liked it
And when one is too busy surviving, they aren’t allowed to truly live and no one around them recognizes or understands that dilemma.
This is so very true and so very heart-breaking
This is “painfully” powerful and raw, Yves. Such a halting topic, you certainly rendered it justice….such a misunderstood state of being…unyielding and tormenting. Blessings, Oliana xx
Thank you Oliana usually I don’t write about my present feelings like this, I tend to write from the past after I have gained some perspective
I am finding that sometimes writing when I am in the darkness and the pain, and I write right then…it is like not walking through it alone.
Writing is definitely cathartic and I ought to do that but I tend to get a little emotionally constipated
Excellent! “For I have not been trained in life, only in the alternate, survival.” Explains it all.
Thank you PJ =)