Lessons

My sorrow, she comes to
me when lifeless apartment
complexes with windows
like cardboard
boxes with holes punched
in them replace the
honey chested,
sweet, ashen-winged thrush
with her euphonious,
polyphonic birdsong,
and echoes of
who I’ve become
are the only voices
in my mind,
saying, “You’re forever failing
and falling into a
fading symphony;
you’re forever falling
and failing like
a fading symphony.”

I wish I could let her go;
I wish I didn’t hold her dear.
I wish I could see past her;
I wish she didn’t stay.

But life has taught me that
sometimes dog-eared, worn
books give us the best knowledge,
reprimanding and edifying us,
reproaching and elevating us.
Suffering refines us
in fires of grit,
in a stony forge
and then imbues us
with the greatest of muses.

The women in my life appear
disappear, and love’s both
lost and regained,
but in the softest nights
when no one’s near,
and I long for
a hand to grasp,
my sorrow,
she comes to me,
and she’s here to stay.

8 responses to “Lessons”

    • Thank you Diana. That’s a very kind comment. Do you play an instrument? I used to play the guitar and the drums. Gave up. Otherwise I could have converted this into a music blog with post-rockesque melodies accompanying some of these poems lol.

      • Yes I fool around with string instruments, two beautiful guitars but the mandolin just looks pretty on a stand lol. Did you give away your guitar?

      • No it’s there in a shelf somewhere. It’s a classical guitar. When I bought it, I thought I’ll end up playing Asturias like John Williams! Oh the naïveté of youth! I might pick it up one day again. Who knows?

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