Here in myself I find me lost
As I fragment inside the core
These tiny scatterings of shell
Are spilling out onto the floor
I do believe I’m breaking up
This I was sure I’d never do
My channel’s unidentified
No frequency is getting through
For this day brings me no agenda
With lack of speech and empty head
All conversations disengaged
A loss of life the soul has bled
I am autumnal to the touch
With much abandonment of thought
I lack direction or result
With zero reading in the eyes
Right now I’m found unoccupied
While in the undercurrent laid
There’s no reaction to the world
I am departed from the day
As my reflection seems to fade
There’s little of me here to see
I’m much less obvious than before
Today I am the ghost of me
Two stanza's removed and gladly so. Much much better! Thanks Allie x
This is a most original piece about pre-menstrual angst perhaps? Or perhaps it's deeper than that, though the light touch tells me it's not a 'forever' feeling. Your facility with meter is impressive and 'I am autumnal to the touch' is quite eloquent. One tiny criticism, if I may. I'd lose a couple of stanzas - not because they're not good, but because you don't need them. It's always good to leave the reader wanting more. Great poem though. love, Allie ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Love the changes. They work. The poem is so much tighter. A bit like pruning a tree to improve its shape. love, Allie ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥