Your ghost hides in corners of our wrinkled sheets
reaching out transparent hands to grasp at my foolishness.
I've never enjoyed swimming naked in guilt's sea -
It leaves me dripping remorse.
It seems, death's formidable grip can trump a full hand
of indifference every time.
The mundane, repetitious days of our existence
held me in perspective as one
too ambivalent to shake his disembodied shoulders.
The scent of your demise to me seemed innocuous -
fleeting, and unable to bloom;
But, flowers - I've discovered - are fragile things
that in a short period of time
will die from the slightest chill.
And I...unbelievably -
immersed in my neglectful, narrow corner -
unable to sympathize or relate to simple needs -
never noticed at all -
your petals -
falling one by one.
How often have men picked their flower in life only to ignore her later through the trials of marriage? Her tears like petals have fallen. Now, through her absence, he realizes too late, what he has done: Disregarded and Ignored his soul mate.
Note to self: Changed the picture and a couple of words.
A quick note:
~~This is by far my most popular poem. And yet, it didn't start that way. Many young people are offended by advice or suggestions from others. They feel insulted that someone would critique their writing.
As for me, I came here not just to share my writing but to learn as well. If it wasn't for suggestions from Rick Puetter and Girl Friday (see below) I don't think the poem would have been as good. The poet Richard also helped me fine tune the poem and it is now--after all these years--(in my mind) complete.
We can always learn from other people as long as we know they have more experience and know-how than us.~~
My Review
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Wow! A very poignantly penned poem, dear Relic. I love how you compare your departed loved one to a fragile flower (age does that to us, it makes us both fragile and vulnerable) and how you didn't see her petals falling one by one (that was because you were so used to being with her, seeing her, that a change in her appearance would go unnoticed). Heart breaking! I feel echoes of guilt studded throughout the poem. We all have a best before date and when that date comes, it is then time for us to leave and return home to Spirit where we came from. No doubt, we may choose to reincarnate or not. The choice is always ours, but this world is not our forever home, we are really only passing through, then passing on. Feelings are superbly expressed in this very powerfully inked poem. The imagery is haunting, yet beautiful! Amazing write! Thank you for sharing, dear R...
Posted 1 Month Ago
1 Month Ago
You're so kind, Marie. Thank you for your comment and your wisdom. :)
1 Month Ago
Aaaaww! Thank you, dear R. You are always most welcome, dear friend :)
Dear Relic,
that's a cruel last lase,
I see family and some are very young, and some are wrinkly, :D
But when you love, it doesn't matter.
I many aquaint see other so much older than I.
I'm happy to my destine treat, and then I'm grabbed for a hug, a friendly kiss. Not fun,
But I do love my elders. Nothing, more loving than grandma and grandpa,
a falling wilt, very beautiful twisted sweet,
love your read, great write!
Posted 2 Months Ago
2 Months Ago
Thank you, BPD.
2 Months Ago
you are most welcome, Dear, Relic, a great poem of yours, strong and spirited, like a stallion, and .. read moreyou are most welcome, Dear, Relic, a great poem of yours, strong and spirited, like a stallion, and true to your heart. ---MJK
Relic,
Your observations, insights and commentary are perfectly on point!
Vol
Posted 1 Year Ago
1 Year Ago
Thanks so much, Vol. Years ago when this was posted it was on another account. It had over 100 comme.. read moreThanks so much, Vol. Years ago when this was posted it was on another account. It had over 100 comments before I switched it to this account. I'm very fortunate people still like it.
Grief can spawn many things, and guilt is one of them. A part of the mind is quick to look back in judgment and hold court on perceived sins of commission or omission. Often this Monday morning quarterbacking is overdone, and I suspect that's the case here. The fact is we could all have done either more or less in any given situation, but obsessing over it does not bring back the dead.
Sometimes poems can be altered and perhaps to determine the how is the why. I would rather amend or 'fix' a poem depending of the reasons why. So yes, I agree that input from others is important. And how we give input should also be done 'constructively' and with common sense. Many times the giving thereof can be narrow minded, one tracked, and uneducated in terms of the scope of the varying elements and circumstances that led up to a particular poem taking its present form. It's not an easy art and with all the input available to us the art of self-criticism is one most vital I believe, not criticising the self but the poem by the poet themselves with the support of helpful outside voices. Hope that made sense.