This Lonely Self
The search for sense amidst life’s solitude
Has topsy-turvy turned beliefs for years.
Is happiness goal sought, or flight from fears,
Sensed as years’ tears, insensitive, intrude?
Life jokes at our expense, all feel pursued
Or haunted by time passed where chimes’ arrears
No substitute may pay when Death appears.
Experience must always be renewed.
Links into future tense we seem when viewed,
Yet each bud’s snipped by Time’s sharp scissor shears.
Soon all returns to naught. Night swiftly smears
Experiments ephemeral yet crude.
Let who would trace indelible here ink
For second thoughts upon life’s sonnet think.
(12 August 1990 revised 21 September 2008)
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Comments about this poem (This Lonely Self by Jonathan ROBIN )
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
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A Dream Within A Dream
Edgar Allan Poe
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(15 April 1931)
(24 January 1572 - 31 March 1631)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(30 December 1865 – 18 January 1936)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
- Phenomenal Woman, Maya Angelou
- Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
- The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
- After a Death , Tomas Tranströmer
- No Man Is An Island, John Donne
- If, Rudyard Kipling
- Daffodils, William Wordsworth
- A Dream Within A Dream, Edgar Allan Poe
- If You Forget Me, Pablo Neruda
- Death is Nothing at All, Henry Scott Holland