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Wither
by Alison McKenzieIf only I could stop the hands
Relentless grains of slipping sands
I'd sit among the fragrant fields
And focus as my yearning heals
If there I could but search and find
Intentions of Creator's Mind
I'd treasure every single thought
And bring to life the truth I've sought
But now my mind's so cluttered, spent
My path's been twisted, tattered, bent
I must have surely lost my way
For now I stand, for now I stay
But long for end of breathing's rasp
And yet I stay in living's grasp
I dare not venture further on
My joy is lost, my hope is gone
So time slips past while I grow old
I wither in this season's cold
And frozen in my own defense
I do the best I can.
07/11/2008 Author's Note: Inspired by another pathetic poet's journal entry...
Posted on 07/11/2008
Copyright © 2025 Alison McKenzie
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Joe Cramer on 07/12/08 at 12:28 AM ... outstanding! |
| Posted by Mary Ellen Smith on 07/14/08 at 04:33 AM A great inspiration indeed....very vivid! |
| Posted by Michelle Angelini on 07/14/08 at 05:25 PM Alison, don't we all wish we could stop time's hands. I just watched a show about time and aging last night. At the end of the show, the scientist who was talking about aging held a bottle that represented an elixir that scientists are working on to either slow or reverse the effects of aging. The question asked of several people, all ages, "Would you drink it?" You've captured a sentiment here that is on the mind of every person who has passed those joyful younger years. I know what my answer is to that scientists question, but everyone must answer for themselves. |
| Posted by Meghan Helmich on 07/14/08 at 06:18 PM *hugs* so true i think you did an awesome job with the rhythm. it's solid throughout the whole poem. and the rhyme works well. |
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