Poetry is not my friend,
It is only sad images of disappointment,
A desolate history
I don’t want to believe.
But still, I have more tears
For a lingering obsession
That has already left
A thousand handkerchiefs wet
With prayers and regrets.
Through scattered verse,
I have called you perfect
And invited the world
To fall in love with you.
I have tried to describe
Your shimmering brown hair
Caressing your Goddess-like shoulders,
A mythical tall girl
Towering in my dreams.
I have swum in the tranquil pools
Of your seductively sad eyes,
And I have not lied
About what they did to me,
I was spellbound and mesmerized.
You inspired a desperate search
For poetic words;
I wanted lines of thought and rhyme
To offer sacrificial compliments
At the altar of the beautiful one
Swirling through my imagination.
You breathe in my poetry
Like a Mediterranean breeze,
I cried and called you Aphrodite,
Now I’m certain that you’re Daphne,
Forever running away from me.
Other women are minutely alive in memories,
Vague footnotes to my poetry,
I can’t remember what they mean to me,
I’m not sure they exist,
But you remain, even in the silence
Of the long months of disappearance.
I hope the man holding your hand
Comprehends what he is doing,
That his mind is racing desperately
With feverish thoughts for your happiness,
That he is forever in floral shops
Seeking out enchanting and exotic bouquets for you,
Bargaining with a chorus of angels
To sing your name in a mystical mantra.
If he fails and loses you,
He may become a lonely poet, too,
Describing every meticulous movement of his desire,
Seeing you in every feminine shadow
Dancing in his grieving mind.
Erica, I will not write of you again,
I’ll let my thoughts all blend into the universal,
Write my praises to returning spring birds,
Find flowery words for summery parks,
Protect my despairing heart
For the loneliness of hurting children.
But if you ever speak a word to me,
The same flood waters of this poetry
Will drown my soul again
With the same lovely misery.
What a beautiful, emotion packed poem. Reminds me of some not so pleasant times in my past. It was difficult to not finish the poem-one is really drawn to it. Well done!
This is my favorite poem from you yet, Uriah. Your work mesmerizes me - the total emotion you are able to put down in words touches me deeply. I especially love the lines, 'To offer sacrificial compliments At the altar of the beautiful one' This poem is utterly beautiful. My warmest regards and respect, CJ
Oh, Uriah. This piece breaks my heart. I cried as I read it because having read most of your poems over the past 2 days I can see the recurring theme throughout - a certain very special woman. Does she know you write about her? Does she know how you feel? What a shame she let you slip through her fingers. I assure you it will be her biggest regret. Shannon P.S. This is one of the most beautiful things I've ever read and my favorite Uriah Hamilton poem. Thank you for sharing it (and your heartbreak) with us.
Oh, wow, what an outstanding achievement of originality and effecting emotion. How could anyone walk away from that?
So sad........Erica must be a fool Uriah. I have to believe there must be a reason.....the right one is waiting for you, you just have to find her. Sincerely, Mary
Such sadness and longing I hope for you all of the best and that she will realize what she does not have.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Uriah, I empathize with your longing. I too have been in a similar position, in fact still am 20 years later. A touching poem, well written, though you do approach hyperbole in the second stanza with 'a thousand handkerchiefs wet with prayers and regret.' The prayers and regrets I definitely think is a strong line but perhaps hyperbole is the point of this metaphor or description. Still an excellent poem overall.9 from me, with best wishes for a joyous Christmas.