This Thirst
by
Richard Reed Jr
copyright 12-03-2006
Age Rating: 10 to 127
This dying flower in the desert
The soft far flung stars ever out of reach
A pebbled brook cracking with cold
The vastness of universal emptiness
Accumulating in one's chest
Everything gray spilling from the clouds
This blackness of everlasting shade and age
A rock strewn road in the wilderness
without even pain or struggle for company
A land with leaves all turned brown
A westbound train disappearing into the sunset
With bleak black coldness touching the eastern ridges
Clasped tightly in the hands of a frozen winter shadow
The farewell whisper of leaves as they fall from the trees
Snow-filled arms of evergreens reaching out for spring
This night wind creaking in the eaves
This road that leads forever into nowhere
This Loneliness.....
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you recommend or rate the work highly...
I was a bit confused at this piece. But yet again i wasn't. It kind of makes sense to me in a weird emotion because we can all feel different at the same time but yet the same.
i really love a lot of your work.
Keep up the good work
Maybe you could comment on my work...or not
Samantha
I read this and pictured a night in Canada's frozen north. I've visited the northern parts of this country and it is indeed lonely. Great descriptions that can mean different things to different people, but this is what I saw in this piece.
Jim has noted your skill in wonderful detail.
I will reach for your heart, and warm it under the blanket of stars in the winter sky. If only...
Each line could be a description of a long winter's walk...
Each line could just as easily be a metaphor for the end of one's life. A couple of them reaching for something to hold on to; the far flung stars are out of reach; then nearer to the end, one reaches out for the comfort of spring, but of course winter is still set.. it can not be changed.
BUT, one thing I disagree with... the road does lead somewhere. And does one truly have to be alone?
Beautiful...
Debbie
This non-rhyming work is the style that I like to write. Like Wallace Stevens: lots of internal rhyme and relaxed alliteration. Comfortable syntax and meter are both there too, despite the lack of end-rhymes.
Subject-wise, I also hear Stevens. I see the pristine beauty and inviting qualities of nature in this poem, but with an unfortunate twist: no human being is present to enjoy it all. In fact, maybe it is indeed the natural world-- the trees, the brook, and the clouds in the poem-- that are lonely and long for the missing human who would inhabit it all. Great depiction of loneliness!
Welcome !
