A heavy gloam
Cloaks my heart;
Sediments
Of loam harden,
Become stone,
Never again
To depart.
Brick by brick,
They wall up
The quick
Of my soul;
I feel the
Reaper
Taking up
Arms.
There is some great imagery here, but there is sadness too, that the heart has become so hardened over the years, there is nothing to do but wait for the reaper? That to me speaks of a life with many trials and tribulations, and with no love in it. Your short poem although well written I find poignant.
Chris
Posted 6 Years Ago
6 Years Ago
Or a life with a big love, afterwards taken away. Sometimes having a lot of love that’s taken away.. read moreOr a life with a big love, afterwards taken away. Sometimes having a lot of love that’s taken away provokes a worse response than a life of never having been, I think. A sense of entitlement can also defile man. Thank you, Christine! ✌🏽
6 Years Ago
Yes, I understand that. I wish you well and your future days less painful.
I love the way your imagery goes gradually from loam to bricks. That’s exactly how it feels, as a heart becomes hardened over the years, until there’s nothing left to do but wait for the grim reaper. By the time it gets to the brick stage, all softness is gone, & such observations become matter-of-fact as presented in the staccato tone used to convey your message (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie
Posted 6 Years Ago
6 Years Ago
Thank you, Margie. You nailed it. Awesome. Hope you’re well.
Maxwell, one of the most original and powerful metaphors I've read describing depression (my interpretation), perhaps PTSD, too. Your words create what we know is so often true. It's the compiling of mental debris and clutter that eventually impairs thought, sight, and hope.
Posted 6 Years Ago
6 Years Ago
Thank you, Ray! Mental debris - that’s a good way to think of it.