Sandra Osborne


With My Own Pain - Poem by Sandra Osborne

If green, red and yellow
Are the colors of life,
Then why is mine
So black and gray?

As a child,
There was laughter.
Now there are tears.
They slide and roll
Down my face,
Like small muddy pebbles
Down a lonely dark road.

And while tears
Will dry up,
Like dead cotton
In a hot field,
Life can be
So casually cruel
As to murder me
With my own pain.


Comments about With My Own Pain by Sandra Osborne

  • (2/2/2005 11:29:00 PM)


    Sad, so sad, but I have been on that same old road myself...
    Warm regards
    Theodora
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  • (2/2/2005 7:10:00 AM)


    this is fantastic. a bit sad, but fantastic.

    cheers,

    Jake
    (Report) Reply

  • (2/2/2005 5:56:00 AM)


    Finely expressed. It put me in mind instantly of Van Gogh's paintings against his black and grey drawings... (Report) Reply

  • (2/2/2005 4:21:00 AM)


    Really dark and the language reflects the pain. I particularly liked this poem the most of the 3 you submitted today, especially the muddy pebbles as the tears, the dead cotton in the hot field and, so powerful, the murderer being your own pain. Vivid images, thanks. I am weeping now... (Report) Reply

  • (2/2/2005 4:13:00 AM)


    Good work Sandra, but I will have to write a comedy to cheer you up.
    Best wishes,
    herbert
    (Report) Reply

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Read poems about / on: murder, laughter, lonely, child, green, red, pain, dark, life, children



Poem Submitted: Wednesday, February 2, 2005

Poem Edited: Wednesday, February 2, 2005


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