professor jinx
Apr 29, 2024
This poem is part of the contest:

Poetry Month 2024 Imagine

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Distant corners - fools do chime

I pace the quiet corners of my mind,
Down the hall:
echoes of remorse softly chime.
I dance with the pages of words unsaid,
A heavy cloak
weight of apologies left unread.

I fantasise about your lips spilling;
“Sorry”,
I weave intricate tapestries,
Heartfelt words
whispered pleas,
Seeking solace;
“come back to me”

Each syllable a tender embrace,
Each sentence is a hopeful grace.
reality's harsh light breaks through--
fragments, just a few.

In this corner of tangled regrets,
Apologies are often met
With silence--
a distant gaze,
I linger on - to pass the days

I fantasise, of apologies.

About This Poem

Style/Type: Free verse

Review Request Intensity: I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back

Editing Stage: Not actively editing

About the Author

Region, Country: QLD, Australia

Favorite Poets: Dylan Thomas

More from this author

Comments

Mary Beth Magee

I think we’ve all walked that particular corridor. You drew me into verse with your imagery. I particularly like “I weave intricate tapestries.” Such an apt description of the situation when we let our emotions wish for outcomes.

Check your spelling on the first line of the second stanza. Is that an alternate spelling of “fantasize” or am just in compulsive editor mode again?

Well done!

Geezer

Having a huge amount of time in living with and among strong women,
I have learned to respond to a fellow sufferer. Yes, they may indeed be sorry,
but, it will never pass their lips. Well, almost never; there has been a rare occasion or two...
however, that is a story for another time. You have a misspelling of fantasize,
but other than that your language is strong and heavy-hearted, I felt it strongly, [fellow sympathizer].
I sense a conversational tone about this as if it were lines in a play. Nicely done, ~ Geezer.
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Geezer

this errant colonial for not realising that it was a colloquial spelling, of an Australian set down in the morass of an increasingly turbulent so-called English communication. ~ Geez.
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