TRAP
Pardon me for ringing you
but all my friends are dead.
It's strange to be sitting here
in the place where I was born
and no longer know a soul.
They were sand through glass
you see. Now I'm like an invalid
who struggles unheard,
consigned to oblivion, yelling
in silence, exiled on the spot
and every new day I cease
to exist again.
Ink Sweat & Tears webzine. August 2018. Editor: Helen Ivory.
I like this poem, thank you ?
Thanks for the comments Ray. Nice that you always take an interest. It's actually about the trap of loneliness that people can fall into when they get old. They may feel alone and isolated, sometimes because they've outlived their friends and families.
Hard to precisely analyse and yet it holds a mystery we would like to penetrate, John. It feels like a frustration of communication on a personal level. Something I can truly identify with. I almost sense a bit of Larkin here, and his isolation in a way.
Hope i'm close. Always I like your work. It has an unpretentious honesty to it.
Ray
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john short
Sat 8th Sep 2018 21:19
Thanks Hayley.