depression literature melancholy poem poems poetry

The ballet of a lonely poet

Sculpture A. Tallil
Sculpture A. Tallil

Words that tumbled through head & meadows
were randomly danced in sound & in echoes
there wasn’t a score or a note to be followed
then why does it feel but clumsy & hollowed?

One of the days, I swore, it would change
then days became but years in a range
my shoulders slumped with burden of times
my age was counted in strokes & in dimes

Could I have betrayed the truth and the real?
Could I have reshaped the spin of the wheel?
I wonder most & on every corner
why others succeed when I am a mourner.

I fret, bewail, do stretch & bemoan
senseless it seems; the fate’s to be worn.

8 comments

  1. It is interesting how easily it appears when someone is discovered. I like to find people who have reached success in later years, it helps me feel better at least! I liked the way you expressed this, through your poetic approach. I like the depth you show in your writing, too, Eva!

    1. Thank you for your kind comment Robin. I am at a stage where I wonder if success is really what we are supposed to seek in life, and also what the definition of success actually means… and is there another way to find that recognition we all long for?

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