The little hope in me is about
to bleed,
Castles in my sky are falling down,
Replaced by bitter, ominous clouds,
My aspirations crumbling to the ground.
I do not know how, I do not
know why,
It matters not, for my tomorrows
Wither away, drowning in sorrows,
Corrupting the air, screaming goodbye.
The garden that flourished my
ambition,
Has been deprived of life; turned to stone,
All is dead and gone, but one lonely
rose,
Shedding its petals as it wistfully groans.
Suffocating amongst the woeful
weeds,
Losing sight as pain pierces my eyes,
Succumbing, as the fight in me dies,
…The little hope in me amply bleeds.
Conquered and beaten, my
garden is ruined,
I hug the cold barren ground in relief and doubt,
Searching for comfort where none can be given,
The little hope in me is all bled out.
Have you ever read The Garden by HP Lovecraft? If not may I suggest you do. Your piece reminds of this because of its intense, profound imagery. There is a lot of raw emotion interlaced throughout. I like how the first line is reiterated in the last as if to stress the chronology of that tad bit of hope one desperately holds onto before it completely extinguishes leaving one bereft, void.
The garden that flourished my ambition,
Has been deprived of life; turned to stone,
All is dead and gone, but one lonely rose,
Shedding its petals as it wistfully groans.
"The garden that flourished my ambition,
Has been deprived of life; turned to stone,
All is dead and gone, but one lonely rose,
Shedding its petals as it wistfully groans."
{awesome--great verse-and you truly keep a helpless/hopeless
mood throughout this poem- I love this poem--magnificent write}
The name is Ivan - I'm 31. I am originally from Bosnia and Herzegovina. I left my country in 94 because of the civil war. After emigrating, my family lived in France for 2 years before coming to Canad.. more..