Past the point of no return
dreamland that once beckoned
has withdrawn its invitation
unaccommodating mind engaged in every second.
Brain rebooting buried thoughts and hurts
dredging from the annals a host of unmentionables
interred tears, interred fears, interred years,
ejected onto centre stage, myriad of dramas
played out on shadow filled walls,
redundant emotions resurrected, magnified
rebuffed, but re-emerging with tittering scorn
battle of wills, a game of slow kill.
Let the moon beat its retreat
let the dawn be its master
let the sunrise come quickly
lest my despair groweth faster.
by barb
Now I know Welshmen and sheep are a subject for mirth, but you only have to count them. If you spot any good looking ones, let me know!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I like this one, maybe cuz it partly reminds me of me, haha. Good write