Dust and Dreams-A Journey
Alone (Loss)
Alone
As I sat upon the edge of time,
Jester's tears of grief in pantomime,
The cat came back to me and said,
"Why must you stare so sad, and soul dead?"
Washed up late now, your greatest fear,
Bygone memories not forgot, yet threadbare,
What did you have before, that died?
So empty now, but for this you cried?
"What killed the heart of joy for all?
Who murdered the soul that once stood tall?
Was it work, to till your fingers bare?
Was it union, to know of Spring's affair?
Or was it just a simple yes,
To wasting all those years, now past?
For alone, you wept, rocked to hug your knee.
All alone, ah, life's great catastrophe."
"Ah, master feline," said I, "so graceful and wise,
Mustn't you see that roles are disguise?
For melancholia be a weathered shield,
A hiding place, a shadow concealed.
There are too many hours, too many days,
Far too many escapes, seconds to whittle away,
I have never found myself, in this fragile mind,
Do kindly let me cry, for now I be truly blind.
If the sentence remains a lonely way,
I shall take comfort in yet another day,
For the only familiar thing I grasp,
Be the saddened passion of forevers, past."
The cat then walked away, resigned,
To my endless journey in pantomime,
He turned his handsome head once more,
Then continued his unyielding, seeking tour.
2002
Cristine M. DiMario
This poem was also published in the 1996 edition of Offerings Magazine. All copyrights are retained by the author.
As I sat upon the edge of time,
Jester's tears of grief in pantomime,
The cat came back to me and said,
"Why must you stare so sad, and soul dead?"
Washed up late now, your greatest fear,
Bygone memories not forgot, yet threadbare,
What did you have before, that died?
So empty now, but for this you cried?
"What killed the heart of joy for all?
Who murdered the soul that once stood tall?
Was it work, to till your fingers bare?
Was it union, to know of Spring's affair?
Or was it just a simple yes,
To wasting all those years, now past?
For alone, you wept, rocked to hug your knee.
All alone, ah, life's great catastrophe."
"Ah, master feline," said I, "so graceful and wise,
Mustn't you see that roles are disguise?
For melancholia be a weathered shield,
A hiding place, a shadow concealed.
There are too many hours, too many days,
Far too many escapes, seconds to whittle away,
I have never found myself, in this fragile mind,
Do kindly let me cry, for now I be truly blind.
If the sentence remains a lonely way,
I shall take comfort in yet another day,
For the only familiar thing I grasp,
Be the saddened passion of forevers, past."
The cat then walked away, resigned,
To my endless journey in pantomime,
He turned his handsome head once more,
Then continued his unyielding, seeking tour.
2002
Cristine M. DiMario
This poem was also published in the 1996 edition of Offerings Magazine. All copyrights are retained by the author.
