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Gone to Seed
by Alison McKenzieThe blank paper lies before me
Quivering and exposed,
The expectation of delivery
Very nearly causing an audible salivation -
If such a thing bore possibility.
The words gather inside me,
Begging for union with
Virginal canvas,
Appealing to my inner senses,
Pleading with each of my honest fingers -
But to no avail.
I cannot write of it,
Will not give life to it,
Manifestation aborted
Before embryonic desire even has a pulse.
The man who loves
The very sound of my voice
Will never touch me
While the man who could, does not.
Such is the ill-fated progression
Of that love whose blossom has gone to seed,
Its weeping swept forever inside.
04/17/2008 Posted on 04/17/2008
Copyright © 2024 Alison McKenzie
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Charlie Morgan on 05/06/08 at 10:56 PM ...alison, i missed this a few weeks ago, and it is studpendous, and you speak of a Thoreauean kind of existence, that of living lives of quiet desperation and i too see the yin yang of it...crazy-good!, charlie |
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