Elegy of the night

[Sweetwood]

Here is a piece from years past. I have worked with it on and off over time and am still not satisfied. So please make suggestions to your hearts content:

Elegy of the Night

In the dark cloak of the night – fraught with the fragments of days past
The candle burning without mercy towards its end
Lightless – I gaze into the dark pool of my soul and in its
Bottomless surface reflections of the horror of fate
Form expanding concentric circles, of what was, is and be.
Leaning my head against the dark cool bark of the forgotten tree
In which I carved my lovers name a thousand times
I give the tears of summer past – my hand reaching: touch the lovers face

Woman – can you feel the dead fathers and mothers coursing through the veins
As words of love fall like the slow drops of autumn rain to vanish on the
Rocky cliffs of years past.
Cursed are we mere humans – angels their being facing out their deeds
Seeking the I in creation of the worlds – cupped hands taking their gift back
into their faces … shining creation and being – one….are we unable
To do what the angels do?
Living with past days destinies. Never
Taken back … drifting through the darkness past days wreak storms within
the trying Creation of today –
cursed we are: we cannot drink the mirror we must bear
In the mornings of our days unfolding.
And in life the mighty battle rages; with eyes wide we feel drawn
To the sensation of the storm ….
Shunning the pain of creation, feeling
Unfamiliar, frightened, clouds of finished fate drifting before the stars
Of the days to come. The heart folds it’s hands to grow still before the power
As we slowly climb down into the depth of old blood ties – bound helpless
Are we destined to re-sign the compacts of yesteryear? – as the soul resigns
To die the slow death of life unfulfilled, wrapped into the blanket of bitterness?

Fingers tracing the carving in the bark, lovers names dripping soundlessly
Into the thicket of the night – the icy winds of fear holding the heart
Will my lovers mouth blow the warm winds of change?

Looking into my angels face bright with creation of being
Peace falls like first winter snow – resigned it wraps love
In solitude of being …. Patiently waiting to be touched



The poem stems from the struggle between a man and a women where she could not let go of her ex she left.

Sweetwood

 

[Unmasked Poet]

Hello sweetwood,

1. Too long, the poem meanders from one abstraction to another.
2. Far too many over used and well worn phrases.
3. The mixing of language styles does not work.
4. Do not explain your poem. If we cannot figure it out to bad for you and for us.

 

[Sweetwood]

Point taken

UP:

Your point is taken!

Now at least I know why I was never quite satisfied. I do not completely agree with your comment about wellworn phrases though.

The problem with the poem is the ususal male problem: too many words, too many details, they can bore you to death. A few choice words and images would have been enough. However, when written, this poet sat to deep in the shit the poem is about. Consequently, the minimum distance to the work was not there.

I needed your comment: Thank you. It's time to let go.

Sweetwood

Years
My closet was taken
By a corpse
Gone it is
What deliverance

 

[dark stranger]

perhaps some other use if the images?

I think there are quite a bit of useful images in this...
perhaps if they were presented with a sparce visual?
let them be bare of heavy?



night, a dark cloak of fragments
made of days past
used like candles burning
without mercy towards their end

I gaze there
into the empty eye sky,
the pool of my soul
and in its bottomless reflections

horrors of fate
in concentric circles
of what might have been then


I lean my head against the bark
of that forgotten tree
where once I carved
a lovers name

a thousand times perhaps
and now
my mind hand reaching to touch
that lovers face

that is unseen again
except for in the memories
that linger on mind edges