Languishing With Siberia
Frozen in past, this land and I lie so bleak
The wilderness of history, yet unable to speak
From the mother’s womb, both born of maternity
My life has been short, not of your eternity
Yet I can compare, for my time now lies in the past
Where age has left us with memories so vast
Cold we are, but neither chooses to be heartless
You carved in beauty, yet my palette seems artless
But as I look upon you I can see my own soul
A swirling cold emptiness with a long forgotten goal
Bitter winds sweep across lacking care and affection
Where both our futures seem devoid of direction
Are the ghosts that haunt us such differing strangers?
For in the end do we both not court our own dangers?
Barren, barren, we would cry in our bitter solitude
Yet does our richness not deserve one single platitude
Loneliness, loneliness, can ever be our only true friend
But I will pass as you continue until the final end
Siberia, Siberia, I would embrace your cold arms
For in both our histories none has grasped our charms
Neither of us blooms, we are the forgotten spiraea
I find myself continuing to languish with Siberia
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: May 2012
About this poem:
Ah my friends, I watch so much from the outside, yet who are we to percieve poetry. You write, I write, are we so different?, I have a love so far from the maddening crowd, let me bestow you, with thoughts, of a longing, of a past love that sees itself with Siberia, the coldness, the emptyness, the heartlessnes and the lonelyness. But it has its own beauty and it certainly has its own ghosts.
Are we not but ghosts of the future, and who will recognise this ghost of one we approved and loved upon.
All I can offer you my friends is poetry, born of emotion, born of freedom but most of all born of passion. Poetry is not about metre, not the correct syllables, not precise in its manner, it is about you!! and your wants and needs, embrace me for I am poet!!. I have been missing, but to many not forgotten, may the peace of poetry be upon you all.
Comments (45)
emotion,freedom & passion..all mixed together make this a superb poem Rob..
Thank you for sharing and your added note.
And the presentation, style, for lack of so called hjigh standards of writing, which I fought so hard to be heard, doesn't matter. Kdos to you my poet. WE, AS I HAVE MENTIONED SO MANY TIMES ARE ALL POET UNTO OURSELVES.
THE SIMPLEST LINE WE CAN CREATE, IS A TRUE REPRESENTATION OF WHAT WE FEEL, WHAT WE CAN SHARE, WHAT WE CAN LONG FOR, AND THA IS ALL THAT MATTERS...
THANK YOU SO MUCH.
WINDY
THANK YOU SON MUCH FOR YOUR SINCERE WELL WISHES. WORDS CAN'T DESCRIBE THE EUPHORIC AND EXUBERANCE WE FEEL EVERY SECOND. SO INSANELY BEAUTIFUL.
THANK YOU FROM THE BOTTOM OF OUR HEARTS.
JOHN AND FILOMENA
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Oh..the poem. Masterpiece of being you.
You carved in beauty, yet my palette seems artless"
Loved these two lines.
You carved in beauty, yet my palette seems artless
But as I look upon you I can see my own soul
A swirling cold emptiness with a long forgotten goal
Excellent poetry Rob.
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Hope you are well, I send a warm blanket, sometime the cold is best accepted it has its own peace.
What do I know about music ,here you are Rob a poet composer !
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For in both our histories none has grasped our charms
Neither of us blooms, we are the forgotten spiraea
I find myself continuing to languish with Siberia]
wow!!! what gripping phraseology! your note at the end was sooo heartfelt, thanks for letting us take a peak into your vast soul once again...
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