CONFESSION

My hand trembles in writing
It isn’t the weariness of my age
I am only getting used to elegies
While you walked away
I saw the mighty sun wash away
I hear pale death visits poor men
Equally it sleeps at the king’s door
It is no rhetorics of the pen
Even my days in a hurry fade to dusk
My sunken eyes see life’s empty rust
Tell me in brave rhythm of words
The absence of heavy-laden grief
Even if there be jostling and congestion
Find a place for my weary soul to fill
This home is no longer fit for me

Alpha E. Y. 2018©

10 thoughts on “

  1. This somehow makes me sad. I don’t know why but there is heaviness in this narrative and I can feel a sudden rush of ache inside me. 😭😭😭
    Hey, don’t hesitate to visit my blog page, I would really love to connect with you, I posted a new blog and I hope you could participate. Cheers! 😊

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thanks for looking through it. The painful loss of my friend made me write that.

      It’ll be a privilege to connect with you too. I’ll start by checking your blog right away. ☺

      Like

      1. Hmmmm, I see you are really humble but the poem “Hannah Frost” is just “a little”. You really have your way with imageries! How do you manage to build so much suspense in a poem? You’re really good…

        Like

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