This is the fourth poem I wrote while I was on vacation last month. I do have the shambles of another that I will be trying to finish sometime in the next week or so, but I thought it was high time I put this from paper to screen. This was actually the first poem I wrote of the four, on the plane trip to Orlando some weeks back. For several reasons it was the last one I posted, mostly because I felt it was the weakest. I liked how the second half of the poem came out, the first half seems to meander a little. Mostly it is about growing old and the fears of being alone at the end of life. Anyway enjoy the poem and I will be back online tomorrow with a new Flash Fiction, with the installment of Noir story that I skipped telling that other tale last Sunday. Thanks.
Turned to Grey
Forgotten more than happiness,
And all that's gold has turned to grey.
Days so short have since shown long,
As the heart beats pump away.
Just one habit I can't break,
The loneliness of being alone.
It remains my only friends,
The alternative the mysterious unknown.
Darkness outshines the light.
Retracing my steps on a broken path,
That leads me to my only home,
A house made of hurt and wrath.
Melted off all that feels,
Down to the hard and calloused soul.
A thick-set shell which can't be hurt,
Yet all within's an empty hole.
I'd call myself a liar,
If the truth didn't ring so true.
I'd name myself a lover,
If only I had paid my due.
But now my years have come to rest,
As I sat by and sulked alone.
The dreams I'd had since locked away,
Are the penance I must atone.
Said farewell to opportune chance,
And all my goodbyes were less than sincere.
The only friends I still had left,
Were my salty tears.
What hurt was it that pulled me down,
Which part had cut me so deep?
That made me shy away from everyone,
To afraid to make that fateful leap.
The shiny moments of yesteryear,
Had once glittered with a golden ray.
Now that brilliance is but gone,
Heavy was the price I pay.
The resonance of loss,
Is all I have to tithe.
For it has been my sole companion,
A far more hurtful wife.
End of Line.