A poet’s lament
What, I wonder, rests within? Underneath my skin?
True, I see a forehead; and, through my beard, a chin,
But I've never known my organs, nor blood vessels thin.
Perhaps I'm naught but poetry and have always been.
I strain to hear my rhythm through daily bustling din;
All thoughts of self-discovery swept up in earthly spin.
Oh -- dreadful that survival might be the greatest sin!
d’Verse
The above poem is in response to d’Verse’s ‘The Body & Poetry’ prompt.
The challenge:
Write a poem about the body parts (e.g. eyes, hands, feet) as a metaphor and/or story.
It doesn’t have to be about your body or family’s history (from the first person experience), if this makes it uncomfortable for you.
You can write about the body’s experience of someone else (from a third person narrative perspective). You create the mood – serious, or sad or sexy, or funny or filled with nostalgia.
Beautiful David!
💜
The whirl of life and the sense of no time to be, not even to hear within. Enjoyed your take David.
Thanks so much, Paul. I’m glad you enjoyed this 🙂
❤
David
I sure did 🙂
Thank you so much for your kindness, Paul.
I deeply appreciate it.
Yours,
David
Very welcome 🙂