The Search Poem by Sandra Feldman
The Search
With all the pain within me,
I will try to write my soul,
No, it isn't very easy,
Melancholic rivers, flow.
It's an anguish that's persistent,
Something I cannot control,
It's an emptiness, insistent,
That does not get filled at all.
I have looked over the Mountain,
And have sailed the Human Seas,
Hoping someday I would find you,
And you'd be all Love could be.
I have looked into the fountains,
Of the Arts, centuries old,
And still empty, 'I can't find you'
And I'm sad, broken and cold.
Trying to write your soul- - - -that is so beautifully said. You have a way of saying your thoughts that your readers find themselves pausing to savor. This search you are on- -I hate to hear it is one of melancholy. Yet how can we find the hidden truths of life if we aren't out there searching and coming up empty and searching again in a different location, using a different tool, and in a different light. Another intriguing write, Sandra.10
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/8/2024 5:14:16 PM # 1.0.0.1119
It seems almost impossible, but love often leads to more pain than pleasure. Writing can never fully describe either extreme, but can be therapeutic in its attempt.