The word ‘lonely’ can not tell you
Just how lonely it can be
It does not echo the tick of the clock
As I wait here quietly
And reach to touch the color
Of its somnolent caress
But it seems to me I cannot
See what color lonely is…..
As melancholy whispers
Sigh through April’s naked trees
Alone, alone it murmurs
In the rain and on the breeze
Yet no one can quite tell you
How lonely ‘lonely’ is….
Or how it can fill you
With an aching tenderness
The shadow where the willow sways
And purple midnight falls
Is tinted in dark, moody grays
A damp and morbid shawl
The tap that drips in perfect time
And off-beat symmetry
To the ticking of the clock
Is a lonesome melody
As minutes become hours
Before hours turn to days
And ‘lonely’ with a thousand hands
Cannot be brushed away
Or moved into a corner
Where it cannot interfere
‘Lonely’ is the color
Of a poet’s heart, I fear
Janet~
excellent!
ReplyDeletethe flow is so melodic!
the feel of it is lonely but not grievously lonely. there is a stillness in your piece that i understand.
beautiful piece of poetry!
You paint loneliness here, very well.
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