Posted by Olsen Potter in

What a lonely poet feels


Eternity, what a dream,
What an idea to comfort hearts.
Time is an illusion
Love then. Doubly so.
Eternity, serenity, beauty,
mind games of a encrazed lover.

Eternity is a game of poets,
romances that defy common feelings.
They whose whords are writen well
Money, not happiness, is their goal.
Born from dust to live in lust
A life of common solitude.

What of it then? This "amor" this faith
It lacks blood, flesh, and heat.
Ideas can not steal away
The wounds from our dying trust
In a world where one minute pleasure rules
Faith is a thing let to rot.

So innocents of heart and blind of love
What dreams may come now?
The Hellish creatures of the drenching dark
Rulde with a sceptor of fear and doubt,
Dare you to think the light of love can win?

You reply "love onquers all"
And I sit and listen.
"Darkness is but a moment,"
You argue, "the dawning day will win."
"Of course, my friend, of course."
My comforting voice lies.

"Yes time is but a dream,
To a broken heart there is no dawn
Thus the endless night in wollow wins-
Love you say? You've found true love?
I congragulate you then.
But alas true love found you?

I do not mean to strike your dream
that would be very wrong-
But open your eyes and you shall see
In this world, love does not belong.

-Olsen W. Potter-

This entry was posted on Monday, October 24, 2005 at 1:39 PM and is filed under . You can follow any responses to this entry through the comments feed .

1 comments

Upon first looking at this poem I rolled my eyes thinking "crud this is long" but upon reading it I found that the poem has a lot of momentum and isn't boring in the least despite its length.

I really like all the contradictions and the fact that it is in part a conversational poem. Even though the poem is sort of organized into sections or verses it plays with a few different styles as it moves along which also make it entertaining.

The content of this poem reminds me of the novel Wuthering Heights or Poe's tragic poetry because it denotes to the early American gothic view of love as a hopeless trap, an abyss, or worse, an illusion or a hopeless cause.

There are a few romantic, gothic and macabre images that really help to pull the readers into the poem in a more physical way.

I am just trying to say that it is wonderful and that you are developing into a greater poet as the days go by.

10/24/2005 11:18 PM

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