Empty Poem by Bill Cantrell
Empty
There is no depth to the end of each day,
And yet, this flesh is longing for home
This dead end road has no street sign,
As a poet becomes undone
Childhood dreams and fantasies,
In each sunset they all pass by
All my poems are but grains of sand,
Which irritates my eyes
Where will the wind choose to carry my soul,
As the sun goes to drying my bones?
Why is it that in the midst of my friends,
I feel so all alone?
Yes, one time or the other, be it a writer or poet or an artist, would feel this way, it seems normal. Man often gets reduced to a bundle of doubts and apprehensions. Touching a deep core and well written.
Why is it that in the midst of my friends, I feel so all alone? Superb!
A deeply poignant poem. Yes, there are times we feel the same way. Despite that we are in the company of friends, happiness seems so elusive. Touching and beautifully conveyed.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Delivering Poems Around The World
Poems are the property of their respective owners. All information has been reproduced here for educational and informational purposes to benefit site visitors, and is provided at no charge...
4/26/2024 12:47:24 PM # 1.0.0.1119
You are not alone....a beautifully poetic piece.