Gazing through a windowpane of timeless thought.
Shattered remnants of broken memories all distraught.
Vanity had been her only rock.
Now she watches a broken clock.
Was it all worth it? She thought.
As the second hand seized its tock.
A dusty rocking chair lost its docking heir.
Tears drip quietly down the air.
How did the illusion lose its grip?
Nefarious quips with never a slip.
Her minds eye could never see.
The needs of another so blind it be.
A walk of shame in perilous heed.
A deed of greed decreed relieved.
Tick Tock.
Says the broken clock.
All for naught.
She never thought that she'd get caught.
Blinded by her vicious plot.
Why me? Comes the thought.
But never a tear for the broken pot.
Thought after thought like twisted knots.
Giving up for what is not.
Will they ever forgive me?
For it twasn't my fault.
Pointing the finger.
Thoughts seem to linger.
Thrice were the fragments of glass at her feet.
Broken mirrors she could not see.
Good piece!
When life becomes bitter, one has usually become old enough to feel loneliness. The jug goes to water as long as it breaks. Is a saying here that I felt reminded of while reading. Your poem speaks to me of shattered relationships and human failings. I feel sorry for the old woman sitting there in the rocking chair, even though, it seems, she is still pointing her finger. At the end of a long life, such things often have little meaning and drama, greed, shame and guilt lose all their appeal. Old ones are sought home by the past when there is no one left in the present who doesn't care. ... But then, everyone needs to be forgiven...
It's normal for empathetic people to feel sorry for a terrible person. I liken it to pity.
Forgiveness is bittersweet for those of us who've lived a lifetime with bad apples.
I love your ability to perceptively and accurately interpret my words ❤️
I don't remember ever reading a poem of your before. Have I just forgotten?
Very intriguing poem though. I'm left with a number of curious images. The broken pot of course, and I can see it's one of yours. I wonder if the pot inspired the poem, or the poem led to the broken pot. A pot broken, perhaps, in anger, in response. Somthing to be learned about self, if only the mirrors could be seen as such.
I love that bit. The moment, so short, as all moments are, yet powerful actions only take a moment to make, and in this one, something shatters irreparably. Was it worth it?
For some reason this one get to me. I am not sure why. Bad things happen in threes?
I hope to come back to this poem tomorrow, when I am more awake. But I am so happpy I caught it before bed.
Good stuff!
La primera lectura la hice en español jajaja así que no le encontraba mucho el sentido pero una vez me concentre y lo leí en ingles me gusto mucho más es increíble como con la traducción entre idiomas se puede perder el verdadero significado y lo que uno quiere transmitir ¿Quién sabe cuantas veces a sucedido esto a lo largo de la historia con textos antiguos?
Este estilo de poesía perdería sentido en la traducción, creo que sí.
A veces me gusta probar suerte con la escritura artística.
Gracias por el apoyo mi amigo.
There's this central theme of pain and loss going on. Such a heartfelt writing of lifestyle and life decisions that now haunt us. Absolutely amazing. I !luv it.🌺✨
@futuremind, @jhymi(1/3) sent you LUV. | tools | discord | community | HiveWiki | <>< daily
! help(no space) to get help on Hive. InfoThank you so much @jhymi! <3
You perceived the context very well!
Much gratitude for your feedback <3
#hive #posh
Many thanks! <3
Welcome
Welcome
Wow! You're great at making poems.
Thank you so much! <3
Thank you lovely.
oh so you are a poet now!
That's for you to decide 😂
Yes, you are.👏😄
Thank you my friend.
Sometimes I get the urge to write poems and stories <3