The Notebook of Dreams

An unexpected poem

I had not intended to write this today

As the sun shines

Through waning days of autumn

I had thought to write

Or of my garden, overgrown

Or of my love for husband or daughters

But

Out of every pore

Loneliness crept out

Showing its face in decayed light

Not joy

Not even ever-defining chores

That surround and fill my day

But the loneliness

That seeps into

Crevices and bone

Making marrow of nights and days

In timely fashion

Perhaps

This was not what I asked for

Or maybe not

But nonetheless

It crowds my thoughts

And permeates my view

I am tempted to cry

The tears of resignation

But remain dry-eyed

In the face of this

My enduring legacy of fear

When I am no more

Will you have known

My secret heart

Will you have found this,

My secret notebook of dreams?

copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2011

Reviews

[Ed Hart]

be assured that the slightest blush of things folds into the creation, and you are not less or more important than any movement in time...your very breath echoes down the ages...and even this poem is part of all of that

[SkinlessFrank]

A chilling but nonetheless necessary thought that we ought to think about more often but for some reason we don't...is it out of fear that we avoid confronting this question? I appreciate the way in which you have cast it here, as a cloud that descends on us from seemingly no where. But, in fact, as you hint...it is always there hiding behind the sunshine.