Long forgotten, I lay abandoned,
for time has, my performance, rinded,
too much of us, demanded
by my holder, mishandled,
of his talent, rescinded,
our act, disbanded.
So amid the hills I landed,
by a trail, stranded,
and as seasons unwinded
of my solitude… of my anguish, I am reminded.
As the grass grew green,
and as the dew, the leaves, gleaned,
and as daffodils imbued the scene,
and as the bloom befit their kin,
and as the sky shined blue, aquamarine,
and as the puddles befell with gleam,
it all made my heart turn quite keen,
and my hopes flourish unseen,
and my woes just felt so lean,
and my varnish regained its sheen,
and my joy inundated my routine,
and my soul felt prime, felt so serene.
My soul, my heart, my every effort, intense;
the struggle greater, at any expense,
a brighter future, a sounder sense,
stepping forward with no pretense,
the thrill, the effort, meaning so dense,
that kept me going, not caring whence,
my pure elation, my best defense,
to life, to hindrance, to any fence,
the ocean clear, its strength immense;
the beach so sunny, to gloom, offense,
quail, grief, sorrow; it all nonsense
to this, my frail heart, but that’s past tense.
A far-fetched, unreal anguish, in me, I’m finding
for all hopes, the forlorn harvest, far withered, I’m mourning.
Bitter cider, dusty webs, hung bleakly, I’m weaving;
crude hay, crushed old leaves, within me, I’m unearthing,
while somewhere, olden crisps, northern chills, I’m perceiving.
Far away, despondent rain, creeping forth, I’m wishing,
and my heart, my listless soul, my pungent agony, I’m cognizing,
for was I, a broken fool, a burnt memento, I’m admitting.
No dream is sheltered, no hope unbroken, no dolor mute, I’m acknowledging
as I’m buried, the auburn dirt, the muddy grime, I’m fading
into oblivion, dispirited muck, of hearts no more, I’m embracing;
down I fall, oh wintry pit, far burrowed now, I’m ceasing.
Burrowed within the snow.
I called for help.
But nobody came.
Nobody knew.
Nobody.