This Poem was Submitted By: Lora Silvey On Date: 2016-07-10 02:50:10 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!To Listen to Music While Reading this Poem, just Click Here!
Click Here To add this poem to your "Voting Possibilities" list!
As Seasons Grow Cold ...age and illness rob the mind of flowered
words whose petals drop wisdom's scent
across pages dusted with promises
simmering on strophe
Gone are the tempests that set minds afire
to burn fresh born thoughts that are quenched
only by penning gifted moments shared
in a litany of paradox
as life comes to sleep on hands that can’t hold
or legs that don’t walk while seasons grow cold
|
|
Copyright © July 2016 Lora Silvey
This Poem was Critiqued By: Joe Gustin On Date: 2016-07-13 13:51:28
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Rage, rage at the dying of the light. This poem hits those of us in the so called autumn of our years the hardest. Yet you describe this with such a blossoming flare. There is not one boring line in the entire poem. It also seems like something that happens when i experience depression. Hands that can't or wont move a pen or legs to tried to walk within the world it wants to hide from. A really thought provoking poem
This Poem was Critiqued By: Tony P Spicuglia On Date: 2016-07-10 12:41:27
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Lora, sometimes a piece makes the point. Other times, like this time, it is antithetical to the point.
Your piece speaks to the great ruse being applied to all life, some sooner than later, others later than sooner. Nevertheless; I understand the prompting of this piece, the tally, which is no long supposition, but exposition. I understand George Bernard Shaw’s quote; Youth is wasted on the young- oft repeated by many reaching “that” age. Whatever that age is for them.
Your “litany of paradox” is an amazing simile, particularly in that the comparative issues are not spoken within the simile. A paradox in itself.
The craftsmanship of this piece, returning to my first line, and your first stanza, bely the point of the fresh and amazing piece. I guess, if I were to speak to it all, I’d say, (which is my wont) Nevertheless.
Seasons grow cold, but you remain what you were before, and to be. It’s the poets, the craftsman’s, the creators- contribution. Well done.
Poetry Contests Online at The Poetic Link
Click HERE to
return to ThePoeticLink.com Database Page!