Barry Conway


Description - Poem by Barry Conway

DESCRIPTION

I HAVE LEARNT THAT MY MUSE,
IS NOT AMUSED,
NOW I WROTE ABOUT HER.
FOR I TOLD THE TRUTH,
DID NOT USE MY POETIC LICENSE.
I EXPLAINED HER,
IN HER TRUE SELF,
AS OLIVER CROMWELL SAID,
PAINT WARTS AND ALL!

THERE WERE MOMENTS OF JOY,
IN THE DESCRIPTION,
BUT IN THE REALITY OF HER BEING,
IT WAS THE TRUTH,
WHICH MUST BE TOLD,
AND TOLD NOW,
BEFORE IT IS TOO LONG,
IN THE WAITING.

HER BEAUTY THAT SHONE FROM HER,
WAS FROM THE OUTSIDE,
FOR THE INNER HER,
HAD BEEN CUT DOWN BY LIFE,
AT THE HANDS OF MEN,
WHO IN THE PAST,
HAD USED HER BEAUTY,
FOR THEIR GRATIFICATION,
WITHOUT REGARD FOR HER HEART,
AND IN THAT SUFFERING,
HER INNER LOVE HAD RETREATED,
INTO A DARK BOX SHUT TIGHT,
LOCKED WAY IN THE CORNER OF HER SOUL.

NOW IT WAS TIME TO OPEN,
TO REVEAL,
TO LET GO,
IT WAS NOT HER FAULT!
IT WAS NOT YOUR FAULT!

THIS WAS MY GIFT TO HER,
THIS WAS MY GIFT FROM HER.

Topic(s) of this poem: hurt, men, muse, suffering, writing


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Poem Submitted: Friday, October 12, 2018

Poem Edited: Tuesday, November 6, 2018


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