by Richard Vince
Once upon a time, it only took
The slightest thing, and I was off.
Words would appear in my mind,
And my pen would begin to
Give them physical form.
An accidental glimpse of
The way the light fell, or
The look on the face of
Someone walking by, would
Connect with something within
That was trying desperately
To escape and breathe.
My thoughts were merely
A set of unintentional tangents
That tried to draw me away from
The necessary processes of life
By drawing my mind's eye to
The obscure and the beautiful.
Today, most of the prisoners have
Scaled the walls of my soul,
Leaving few wayward thoughts to
Divert me from the path of
Even though I am glad that
My heart no longer aches from
Being pulled in so many directions,
I miss the colourful ribbons I could
Once follow into the hidden depths
Of myself that some part of me
Believes I merely dreamed.
The feeling that I was
Dead inside carried with it
A strange vitality through the
Beauty and the lives that
Touched me so briefly, but now
Seldom touch me at all.
Surely something other than sadness
Can reopen my eyes to
All that used to electrify me?
Posted on 01/09/2006
Copyright © 2022 Richard Vince
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Anita Mac on 01/10/06 at 06:16 AM|
I love this. I feel it. I'm used to reading poetry describing a scene, 'the accidental glimpse of the way the light fell'; this is new. I like it.
|Posted by Elle O'Connor on 01/10/06 at 10:40 PM|
Seeing as this had the effect of intensifying an already intense depression, I think it must be good.
|Posted by Gregory O'Neill on 01/11/06 at 09:51 PM|
On a voyage to the interior, the windows are always changing shape. There are several rules for what you're trying to do. Unfortunately, no one knows what they are.
|Posted by Eli Skipp on 02/07/06 at 09:36 PM|
I think this speaks a little bit to every poet at some point. I know it certainly does to me. Beautiful.