Like a scrape from
Inside my prison
formed of skin.
Illness showed sad truth.
Where I’m just stuck
When also badly lacking
But sexual hunger lingers
Athirst for beauty.
These lovelorn eyes
can only scan
across dry surfaces.
Or grieve a
now far gone.
I breathe, disconsolate
Seeking mumurs held within.
As day drifts away
And word’s varnish
Above is the last of three poems (see “Lost words”/”Necropolis”) found on a single sheet, which lay forgotten, amid unused printer paper, for 27 years.
They all date from that one dismal March day in 1992. When, feeling ill and depressed,
I forced myself to write, breaking a barren spell.
(My illnesses remain incurable. And not much has improved, creatively or physically.)
I love to get feedback, via blogging:
so please do let me know if you think the piece works?
Also, any art on the blog is mine: I hope you like it?
Comments are always VERY welcome!
Thank you for reading.
( anxiety / art / beauty / blog / blogging / depression / life / mental health / poem / poetry / reading / thoughts / writing )