Some blue moon nights
settle like slather and lather
of something dear and downed
wanting to be remembered.
My sad poems, then, wail
like pull on ancient strings
and low vibrations’ melodramatic Ohm
to suit the sound of my sorrow.
I bend to stripped wings of angels
like a woman stoops to plant a vine
against a porous slab.
Author notes
One has to honor a sorrow that comes to revisit its heart.
Picture provided by contest holder, The_melody_of_your_demise
In a list
A contest entry
- Picture Prompt by Angelflower.
700 points, ended January 27, 10 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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oh how haunting! this was beautifully expressed and worded.. though sorrow reaches out and touches the reader... you really did a wonderful job, thank you very much for sharing. best of luck in the contest.
Angel
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ty so much. I do appreciate yoru comments and the HM. Soemtimes we need to honor our sorrow, however it dissipates, it is still a need to be expressed.
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Yes, those visitations to the heart can oftentimes become very deeply felt upon revisitation . . . beautifully stated Carol . . .
Marc
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TY, marc. I do not wish to belabour sorrow, but it does need honoring when it visits now and again. Thank you so much for commenting.
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