Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

she drank to her dolor
to the madness that dropped like a stone

the suffering etched on her cheeks
and oh how her eyes pushed away the sun
twisted in grief
hanging from a thread

her sky hung low
its human voices did not touch her
their silence prowled beneath her eyelids
forming prizes from the past

she learned to be still

still with her verse and the willow
with her insomnia and the great stump
that remains.


©March2007

God that's beautiful! Lovely poetry!

the grief is tangible here.
so is the quiet, reeling inner strength.

quite a picture, and many possibilities,
from so few words...

i see a tortured soul
tossed in a sea
of drifters

beautiful poem!!
strong word dolor, pain sounds lighter, easier.

"her sky hung low
its human voices did not touch her
their silence prowled beneath her eyelids
forming prizes from the past"

I could read this one verse over and over.
The whole piece is that good.

H

thanks for reading, your thoughts are much appreciated.