Extraneous

Sometimes i visit my
poems of old. My family of words.
They live in the realm of forgetting.
As I see them they have aged with 

wrinkled skins and hollowed out teeth. 

They walk slower and brood most of the day.

They have forgotten their lot, 

stopped to groan and ache with me. 

Now they speak the tongue of whispers and hiss like serpents.
It is raining here. Rain is their soul. 

I smile at the happy chance and get on with the day.
I sit with them, hold their hand.

 I tell them news from the world and i draw for them a window.

A window to the sea. I always liked the sea. 

You could drown so much in it. i stroll along the shore talking to them.

In the midst of our grey exchange of good and bad 

they ask me about their mother and i tell them about their mother. 

They are not the same. Not anymore. 

And a strange numbness imbues into them. 

I know they want hope, perhaps more than I do and i know my visit has drawn to a close.

As I prepare to leave, 

among many caresses and goodbyes i promise 

them i will someday look for their mother, and with my steps outbound 

i say to myself not all prosper far and wide in love.

Reviews

[Corset]

I like the way these old writes walk with you and ask of their muse mother, that was very imaginative. If I were to go back and read mine they would hiss the same, old and worn out feelings that don't belong where I am today. The closing line can be said of 95% of the population I think, very few get to love in the way the gods would have wanted them too, to err is human, forgive divine, and humans are not divine, though we can try, always try :)

[Abhra]

Thank you so much!!

[Ed Hart]

i like your poetry, there's an ease here that has nothing to do with easy

[Shimmerbliss/CAF]

The personification of your old poems made me smile. You describe their aging and the tender way you visit with them lovingly and in a way that touches me. I, too, have old poems and there seems little hope for some of them, but I remember them young and healthy and it is sad to know they may never fulfill their dreams. Anyway, I drift off here because this poem makes me think and reminisce and wonder...that is what I like. I get lost in feeling when I read your work, and your voice is gentle and tender. It is obvious that you know loss, love, and hope.