Too long a service of patience and pain
Breeds new cacti in gardens of heart
That wear their winters all year.
Tired with the crumblings of leaves through
my valves,
I puzzle for the breezes of spring that’ll blow
Never now even for a week.
Should I still beg more patience and
strength
To last my hours still oozing with blood,
Or elixir of perfection, well beyond reach
That’ll mould me a god out of clay?
Blistered and bled, I stagger through the
sand
And scatter as twigs in nor’wester land.
20 comments:
Brilliantly textured, even metaphysical.
I believe you'd like the Australia writer, Francis Webb.
Drought, emotional and spiritual, scratches through the words, abrading and challenging the reader. Not easily achieved, this works.
An excellent metaphor for a heart that has been broken or betrayed.
"I puzzle for the breezes of spring that’ll blow" I love this line! Very great piece albeit full of longing.
I feel the bleeding heart like he is on his last shred or twig left...
Happy day to you Abin ~
Your poetic voice draws the reader in to explore what is within.
'cacti in gardens of heart' -- what a wonderful visual for how a person feels. Impressive writing, Abin.
It's hard when one is struggling and a prayer seems to go unanswered, and ever it seems the seasons do not change but remain ever cold or dry. Metaphors in this one are effective. Thanks for sharing this poem.
The struggle for our spiritual growth is never an easy one. You've captured it so well here.
Lovely piece.
we live scattered don't we...a little bit here and a little bit there...i remember frank o hara writing ...AND I'LL BE HAPPY HERE AND HAPPY THERE, FULL OF TEA AND TEARS...
I especially love "in gardens of heart that wear their winters all year." Wowzers! This has the bleak feel of February about it. So well done and love the adherence to the form.
Rich metaphors for betrayal and desolation.
Be patient...spring will come (it has here).
This evokes so many emotions. Love that final couplet, especially "scatter as twigs."
Excellent use of meter that gives the spines and thorns of the poem something to grown on, and the last rhyme is a nice finesse at the end. Your opening line, and many more, all condense a feeling into sharp focus. Like it much, esp 'Tired with the crumblings of leaves through my valves...'
The entire tone oozed frustration and and a want to be with or be free. Its those damnable areas in between where the monsters live, the ones with pointy sticks and bulging eyes. Sometimes moving on is the price to cross the bridge. Great writing...loved the feel of the whole thing.
Some great lines here - excellent metaphor.
Anna :o]
The last stanza is beautiful!
Blistered and bled, I stagger through the sand
And scatter as twigs in nor’wester land. The path of a broken heart...great piece!
"Tired with the crumblings of leaves through my valves"
Fantastically creative line!
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