Ordinarily I don’t publish so much poetry at Theoria-press, and instead try to provide mostly essays with an odd poem or sonnet occasionally interspersed among them. But the Muse’s visits have outstripped my ability to keep pace with prose pieces so readers who prefer essays should peruse the archives of this site, which are replete with them. And midsummer is the season for poems and songs and sonnets and verses and ballads anyway.
SEVERITY is the color grey
harsh, unfeeling, grey, like walls of stone
the words we never had the chance to say
the deeds withal we never could atone
grey the sky presides over mortal affairs
indifferent as the winter’s bitter chill
as empty space before our hopes and cares
impassible and passionless until
I found myself before your marble face
a glint of light upon your flinty eye
and saw a hidden grimace flit apace
across it, no matter how hard you try
and as you did those fateful words pronounce
and each syllable upon your breath was born
your lip began to tremble, to announce
the promise of one heart that had been torn
suddenly, from those palisades did spring
a leak, a trickle, and at once became
a sea in agitation, rippling
so much that your modest, comely frame
could hold at bay no more the passion flood
but why resist? for statues we are not
but men and women, flesh and blood
bereft of love, to feel is all we’ve got
this one was even more gripping. great work! last line was a little bit of a let down.
Love to read your poetry friend and yes midsummer is the time!!! I seem to feel the change of seasons and cosmic shifts too it can be very unsettling