sickness still remains a sting
that steals vitality, keenly fed
on anguish bled from trauma
deep, tension wed to agony in
thrall to grief; no pleasure left
to ease ambiguous disgrace
endured as much inured and
endlessly emphatic pain
treachery has schemed in wine
to solace-seek with shame;
I sip inspired on fine and aged
epitomes of grace – memories
weave lines embracing
features of your face
© 2 July 2009, I. D. Carswell
You've done it again Ivan. You are such a stunning poet! If nothing else or no one else, fulfills that flickering candle...know that your words profoundly leave justice where injustice might have occurred.
ReplyDeletebessye