Weeping watercolors, forgotten dreams

 

 

Weeping watercolors, forgotten dreams

 

 

 

There, beneath the rubble,

the ash and the debris,

you’ll find a faint image

looking something like me

 

As I too stand, peering into the pile

wondering, trying to make

some sense of the torment,

though this pain is imaginary…

 

for I have strode this wasteland,

walked these barbed wire foot paths

many times in the past

and what once was pain,

is now what I am

 

and the silhouette of what is seen

in a visionary echo of long ago tears,

repeating through thorn crested decisions

and a true lack of self confidence,

 

dances on the acidic breezes

that engulf my heart

and paint my frown

in weeping watercolors of my forgotten dreams

Author's Note

Thank you for reading

Reviews

[DIVYA]

"for I have strode this wasteland,
walked these barbed wire foot paths
many times in the past
and what once was pain,
is now what I am"

- I am just so touched by the feelings conveyed here. When we are hurt consistently, we get so used to the pain and accept it as a part of life, knowing no better.

This poem is amazingly different and speaks so beautifully of pain...

Thank you for sharing Jack.

[Jack...]

Thank you so very much Divya. yes that is true, but we can also find happiness as a common too, especially when I find such kind words from you.

[DIVYA]

You are most welcome Jack :)

[writing mojo]

such a cool chill painted on the poetic bones only you know..great piece, very well rehearsed in this kind ego less measured verse...amazing job

[Jack...]

Thank you so very much. I am thrilled by your kind and flattering words this morning. Truly, thank you.

[Frieda P]

Sigh Jack, you've painted in hues of deep blue longing here my friend. Gorgeous poem albeit so sad, it makes me want to weep myself.

[Jack...]

Kind words like this will always allow me to climb out of that rubble and stand tall. No tears my friend, only smiles, for that is what your sweet words bring to me.

[Cassie]

I relate with this so much, thank you for sharing it. There it goes to my shelve.

[Jack...]

Thank you so very much my sweet friend.

[Vria P Crow]

INTRODUCTION

"Weeping watercolors, forgotten dreams" is an extended metaphor of forgotten dreams. It is disheartening to think that we are finite beings. The i m a g i n a t i o n of a child remains stationary as we are on the brink of death.

QUOTE DISSECTION

"though this pain is imaginary…/for I have strode this wasteland,"

Phantom pain manifests itself into reality within human emotion. The "wasteland" is apart of the writer's memory; it is the site of unfinished projects.

CONCLUSION

Regret is counterproductive, my friend. The "wasteland" is a legacy of your c r e a t i o n s; it lingers in your poetics. A writer leaves their legacy behind with their documented thoughts. The written word serves as the vital relic of a civilization.

Do not despair...

r e p a i r.

[Jack...]

Thank you so very much for your emlightening comments on my poem today. I truly do appreciate you visiting my world again.

[Vria P Crow]

You are welcome! It was a pleasant visit.

[Girl Friday (Sarah W.)]

for I have strode this wasteland,
walked these barbed wire foot paths
many times in the past
and what once was pain,
is now what I am -- wow...this just about says it all, doesn't it?

I felt this one, my friend. A deep, sensitive, emotional journey is painted within these lines. Truly enjoyed the read, but more importantly, I thought about the piece and about myself in it.

[Jack...]

Thank you so much Sarah.

[Lydia Shutter]

Vigor diminishes, colors fade, you languish...disappearing into the scenery. At times it seems that way as we get older. Are we less needed in society? Are we less wanted? Do our opinions count? Such a sad commentary on life. Tears of long ago do follow us through the years unfortunately, but they need not define us. Self esteem is all important....and when it disappears, nothing else really matters. Jack, I know what others say is less powerful than what you think, but let me assure you, you are not a fading flower here at the Writer's Cafe! The introspection in this is excellent and the imagery was ultra expressive. Great work, Jack. Lydi**

[Jack...]

Thank you Lydi. You words mean a lot to me.

[Emmy]

Wow. Seriously, as we say in OK, "I ain't got any words!" That was wonderful

[Jack...]

Thanks so very much Emmy...how are things up there in Red Dirt country?

[Emmy]

Pretty good! We finally got some rain! I heard Texas beat OU in football. I'm not sure if its true but if so, congratulations!

[Jack...]

They did, I am not a big Longhorns fan, but thanks.

[Emmy]

Yeah anytime;)

[Sami Khalil]

"peering into the pile

wondering, trying to make

some sense of the torment,

though this pain is imaginary"

The dreams are empty , the wastelands are scattered , thoughts are dry , foot paths are crooked , watercolors are fading , even visions are echoing in the void. You have described splendidly a hopeless state Jack...Bravo

[Jack...]

Seems I'm getting good at that. :) Thanks so much my friend.

[Sami Khalil]

Most welcome....:)