LAMENT OF THE LOST
MEMORIES
Creeping through the darkness
having lost all memory
of human touch upon my skin,
I long for the forgotten memory
of my freedom to be what I was
and go about as I would.
I am dead to me, the I of young is gone
I am dead to me, the I of young is gone
the memory of the past is
fading and I find I am nothing.
Not a thing worth thinking over
or wondering for,
there is no more I of value to this place.
Patience is torture as I belly crawl
Patience is torture as I belly crawl
in the darkness of both night and day
waiting for a final breath overly long in coming.
I do not lament this life
only that my final memories will be of it as it is now,
not as it was when the I of a free man lived.
© M Durfee
© M Durfee
2/8/16
I have so little memory of The Walking Man that he is dead
within me.
I get the feeling 'free' may mean 'lost'? I have a 'lost' bit inside of me, and no, I don't miss her at all...
ReplyDeleteSad! But I've been thinking a lot about death lately.
ReplyDeleteWe rage against the erosion of freedom, and yet our rage only becomes part of the cage.
ReplyDeleteDo not know what u mean by " Lament Of Human Tragedy" ... sweet lil meowpoppa ... am way beyond mourning anything ... thanx 2 my fellow bloggers 2 finally put a lid on it ... regardin the death of my daughter Jenny ... I do believe now, that no body will ever understand ... but this is blogger ... and so what ... blogger ... farcebook ... what ever ... social media is not social at all ... anyway ... Love U, cat.
ReplyDelete... smiles ... Love, cat.
DeleteThis is too sad, Mark, to be entirely true.
ReplyDeleteSad, but it's a gift to express yourself through this creative way. Not everyone can write a poem like this. Nice page here! :)
ReplyDeleteIf you have chance, you might want to pass by www.irizchan.com . Thanks, have a great day! :)
That's a bit depressing especially since it rings true. I've felt like that since I was no longer a teenager. But if life is like a journey down a river, then the excitement of the rapids of the upper reaches may be behind us but the lower reaches can still turn up a surprise at every slow meandering bend.
ReplyDeleteMark-I find it too sad to view that way. I don't know.. xo
ReplyDelete
ReplyDeleteDon't know if you need a little Cancer to center the mind; or a dope slap!
Already beat cancer twice but would talk about a dope slap?
Delete__We become fallen leaves, raked aside by the sophisticated pundits of fashionable change; but the old vogue is the basis of their fertility, we are the fallen leaves.
ReplyDeletebrittle brown
leaves of what was and is
grow the green
_m