Heartbreak, Loss and Coming of Age can be interpreted in many ways. When we first discussed our July/August theme I kept thinking how these three things can be best conceptualized. In my mind Heartbreak, Loss and Coming of Age can be experienced in various levels of relationships and maturity. Heartbreak isn’t necessarily within romantic context, Loss isn’t necessarily death and Coming of Age can be having to overcome something, not just puberty.
In today’s Poetry Friday post, I’m sharing one part of a back to back poem. It’s an original that I wrote as I explored an imaginary scene of a Man in love with his friends widow. In many ways it is heartbreak and loss, but I also think the next stage to this poem would be coming of age.
This is an old poem. While I will never completely claim I am a poet, but at times I do find the words that need to be shared. Thanks Michelle of Today’s Little Ditty for hosting today’s Poetry Friday.
I hope you enjoy this little original from me, Iphigene.
An Unsent Letter to the Widow©
And though my letters fall short
Of poetry, of verses that adorn the landscapes
With metaphors that swoon you
To fly across oceans to my little writing desk
In the temperedness of my pen, in the hesitation
Know, this letter carries
I have found solace in the quietness of morning
Though I wake from troubled sleep
Of bleak darkness and voids of you
Falling down to nowhere
and my grasp
Taking nothing but air;
How can I ask of you
to soothe these nightmares,
When a child, so innocent
needs you there?
I write in earnest, with heat
At thoughts of begging—
Desperation to fill the burning noon,
The winter night with the whisper
Of your voice,
The hum of your father’s song
And the sweetness of less
Bitter days. Yet, I tear my words
To pieces and fill you in
With details of a day,
Like all other days.
For though passions fill these hands
With ink . And my true letters
Blot with utter abandon page after page
Of desires to have you
Here in this tiny room of flowered dreams
And powdered fascinations. I can never
Ask of you,
This life, for you must live
For your child,
For such an innocent
O Dear widow! Know
that my letters—
Civil, lukewarm and
So much more.