Solitude scratches as an aggravating child within my walls
I did not invite her with opened arms, beckon
Nor call....
She arrived as silently as she once left
Within the words of human comfort
Of fickle breath
And woe is me, my sheer stupidity
That i at my time in life should be taken by the hand
Feeble unguarded
Back to the land of pain
The world i swore i would ne-er return
Again
But i dropped my guard so some small shard
Could surreptitiously remove my core
And spit pon the muddied grass
Who am i to want more?
You intrinsically are a beautiful and unique individual, precious, rare and a fragile but contradictingly resilient and robust woman, mother and friend. Your art is your soul and it sparkles a beacon of selfless care and love and hope. Your poems are dreams and aspirations germinated in truth and often raw and brutal memories which in beauty and undying care survive and yearn from a bruised but hopeful and forgiving heart. Who are you to want more? Indeed who are any of us. We all are nothing, but we are all. We are not entitled other than to expect to be loved and respected for ourselves. It is not wrong to expect more than this.
No stupidity at all in this poem Karen, a very clever write, thank you for sharing.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A brilliant write Karen, very well expressed take on being alone.