by Ken Harnisch
Dried up, the lips take on a withered cast;
Not just wrinkled, but like dead things
Clinging to the face of the unhappy man.
Warts to be excised at some future time
When he visits the medicine man who will
Prescribe a salve for the grievous wounds
That mar the skin, but none for those that
Scar the heart.
Oh how happy we are in our loneliness!
How used to it all we get, when we have
No arms to cling to, no ears to listen to our
Voice, which we self-declaim as not worth
Hearing anyway. And yet
what light it is
That breaks on us when one face smiles
At seeing ours; one voice finds its lilt
At hearing ours; one pair of eyes dances
When it strikes that sweet accord with ours
I grieve the withering of lips not placed
Upon yours with any regularity.
I mourn the embraces not given in the
Dawning sun, or in the blue light
Of the shimmering moon. Most of all,
I miss you, who would row
The little boat with me
That took our wounded spirits home.
Posted on 06/02/2003
Copyright © 2021 Ken Harnisch
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Amy Niggel on 06/06/03 at 01:54 PM|
beautiful poem ken. The imagery is amazing as usual. Great Job!
|Posted by Maureen Glaude on 12/31/03 at 04:28 PM|
I think someone thought my current Mid-Winter Tips was so like your poem here, or a response, but the tone's very different and it's just a coincidence I guess. Mine's an old one, from poesie days. Happy New Year. I like yours, really gets to the heart of the solitude, though sad, a kind of epiphany
|Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 06/01/04 at 01:00 PM|
Fascinating analogy of lost love Ken. Worthy appearance on the Weekly Favorites.
|Posted by Kate Demeree on 02/23/05 at 02:48 AM|
I can see that the first time I read this.. I rated it and never commented. *smiling*.... tonight I revisited some of my favorites here... and I could not pass this without saying ... it has a bittersweet beauty that remains... timeless
|Posted by Kate Demeree on 04/20/07 at 04:17 AM|
I was here.... again. This one is going into my favorites list.