Array ( [sid] => 183281 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => Losing You, Losing Me, Getting Lost [time] => 2016-06-21 08:00:23 [hometext] => [bodytext] => Evenings have a hopeless beauty
as the skies fade to a dusky grey
and in the pallid light
people/'/s features crumple and soften
as do their expressions
from taut and strained
to slack and melancholy
revealing
an impossibly aching sort of yearning
for sun speckled moments past.

On the bus ride home from work
the final russet glow
kisses the commuters/'/ wan cheeks
black irises gleam
in their true marbled brown hues
as they gaze out of hermetically sealed windows
at a poignant picture.

The wide, wizened, wise looking tree
creased limbs
stretched out
towards the last gentle rays
seeping from a blanched sky.

But what if at the end of the day
it bared branches grasp no ethereal forms in the sky?
What if that is all there is to it?
And what if
the truths you thought you heard
chirruping through the leaves
whistling through the eaves
were but a cold, earthly twillight breeze?

I see sky, I/'/ve been desperately seeking shapes
since you, my precious ones
were disentangled from the rubble of loose soil
and left this earth
as if to dust, disintegrated into the unrelenting wind.

The sturdy, sinewy branches,
like your crinkly, dependable arms
beneath I see rain slicked grass
and soil kicked up by paws
all ebullience, all joie de vivre.

But oh what if
this dusk-dusted scene
is but a wistful portrait
projected by a mind
jammed set to the past
an archaic tape recorder that replays
childhood cartoons in an anguished loop.

Those stoic soothsayers say
the sooner you accept
that all is ephemeral
the more at peace you/'/d be.

But then I see an old lady board the bus
with an unwieldy gait
in a cotton blouse with paisley prints
I clutch my heart and shut my eyes
and pray only for her well-being.

On the morning bus ride
down the same tree-lined street
I lean on a cool glass panel
eyes half-closed
as the sun, warm and amber
strokes my head like a comforting hand.
I look up to the clouds
earnest as I always was
I see a clearing
a sun dappled mossy garden
on the eve of sweet velvety darkness
there an old lady chuckling in paisley print
and paws padding circles
round a benevolent looking tree.


[comments] => 2 [counter] => 193 [topic] => 43 [informant] => CARAAAAA [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => oops ) Your Poetry Dot Com - Losing You, Losing Me, Getting Lost


Losing You, Losing Me, Getting Lost
Date: Tuesday, 21st June 2016 @ 08:00:23 AM AEST
Topic: Sad Poetry

Contributed By: CARAAAAA
Evenings have a hopeless beauty
as the skies fade to a dusky grey
and in the pallid light
people/'/s features crumple and soften
as do their expressions
from taut and strained
to slack and melancholy
revealing
an impossibly aching sort of yearning
for sun speckled moments past.

On the bus ride home from work
the final russet glow
kisses the commuters/'/ wan cheeks
black irises gleam
in their true marbled brown hues
as they gaze out of hermetically sealed windows
at a poignant picture.

The wide, wizened, wise looking tree
creased limbs
stretched out
towards the last gentle rays
seeping from a blanched sky.

But what if at the end of the day
it bared branches grasp no ethereal forms in the sky?
What if that is all there is to it?
And what if
the truths you thought you heard
chirruping through the leaves
whistling through the eaves
were but a cold, earthly twillight breeze?

I see sky, I/'/ve been desperately seeking shapes
since you, my precious ones
were disentangled from the rubble of loose soil
and left this earth
as if to dust, disintegrated into the unrelenting wind.

The sturdy, sinewy branches,
like your crinkly, dependable arms
beneath I see rain slicked grass
and soil kicked up by paws
all ebullience, all joie de vivre.

But oh what if
this dusk-dusted scene
is but a wistful portrait
projected by a mind
jammed set to the past
an archaic tape recorder that replays
childhood cartoons in an anguished loop.

Those stoic soothsayers say
the sooner you accept
that all is ephemeral
the more at peace you/'/d be.

But then I see an old lady board the bus
with an unwieldy gait
in a cotton blouse with paisley prints
I clutch my heart and shut my eyes
and pray only for her well-being.

On the morning bus ride
down the same tree-lined street
I lean on a cool glass panel
eyes half-closed
as the sun, warm and amber
strokes my head like a comforting hand.
I look up to the clouds
earnest as I always was
I see a clearing
a sun dappled mossy garden
on the eve of sweet velvety darkness
there an old lady chuckling in paisley print
and paws padding circles
round a benevolent looking tree.




This poem is Copyright © CARAAAAA


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