Jun 2010
Wonder where I'm going, past azure fields of pain,
where the wild wind is blowing,
where damnation earns its name.
Rivers running bitter cold, through dusty, ancient woods,
and as my soul was starving, I'd forgotten if I could
love or laugh, cry or sigh, gain or pain, live or die
(I slept on cairns of greystone and never realized
there was a bed of feathers so close by.)
Wonder where I went, through dusty courts of dew,
as when the air was steaming and my emotions screamed at you.
Flowers falling on the floor, time wasted by the yard,
as all you wanted was to open up my tangled, shattered heart
soul and mind, soft and kind, enduring all you stood by
(I forgot myself, on an empty shelf, where my spirit
slowly slipped and died).
When I discover where I'm heading, along the highway where I'll
vie,
in the land of rocky bedding, as my anguished thoughts are shedding,
something softly tells me, (somewhere deep inside)
your gentle, tiny hands will hold me,
should I ever learn to cry.
where the wild wind is blowing,
where damnation earns its name.
Rivers running bitter cold, through dusty, ancient woods,
and as my soul was starving, I'd forgotten if I could
love or laugh, cry or sigh, gain or pain, live or die
(I slept on cairns of greystone and never realized
there was a bed of feathers so close by.)
Wonder where I went, through dusty courts of dew,
as when the air was steaming and my emotions screamed at you.
Flowers falling on the floor, time wasted by the yard,
as all you wanted was to open up my tangled, shattered heart
soul and mind, soft and kind, enduring all you stood by
(I forgot myself, on an empty shelf, where my spirit
slowly slipped and died).
When I discover where I'm heading, along the highway where I'll
vie,
in the land of rocky bedding, as my anguished thoughts are shedding,
something softly tells me, (somewhere deep inside)
your gentle, tiny hands will hold me,
should I ever learn to cry.
D. Conors
c. 1993 (?)
Written as a personal poem for someone, I was shocked to have received a notice in the mail that this work had been published submitted by that person to a major publication--without my permission!
As my skills developed as a professional poet, I came to abhor this poem. I also came to abhor the person I wrote it for as well.
It went National in 1997 though, and well, I just accepted it for what it was...flaws and all.
(I still think the poem ***** and actually cringed whilst transcribing it!)
We`tend to be our own worst critics.
I hope you enjoy it more than I do...;)
c. 1993 (?)
Written as a personal poem for someone, I was shocked to have received a notice in the mail that this work had been published submitted by that person to a major publication--without my permission!
As my skills developed as a professional poet, I came to abhor this poem. I also came to abhor the person I wrote it for as well.
It went National in 1997 though, and well, I just accepted it for what it was...flaws and all.
(I still think the poem ***** and actually cringed whilst transcribing it!)
We`tend to be our own worst critics.
I hope you enjoy it more than I do...;)
