The wounded and defeated sea lion
after the fight with the other male,
wounded and alone and shuffling onward,
bleeding towards wherever he’s going
to bleed until the end, because the wounds
will fester and reach his marrow, the wounds
with the bitter core with a crust of sorrow,
wounds digging in like time’s roar.
Has he got anything more now to stand for?
I have been wounded, that’s for sure,
but I haven’t fought against any male,
how more evident and even brighter
my wounds would have been in that case
and how pure in contrast with these,
poisoned and invisible in the normal
haze of the day, washed in occasional
rhymes, on the world’s cacophonous strand,
my heart shuffling on and this poem my den.
In very humble homage to Robert Frost whose echoes I distinctly felt, or imagined, in me while this poem was taking shape.
3 comments:
I did leave a comment before, but odd things are happening in cyber space.
A splendid poem. gritty and real - and a worthy tribute to a master poet.
Good homage in humility to a great poet, one of my favs. His whole life was plagued with grief and loss; he fought against life like a lion too.
The parallelism between the real lion defeated in the first stanza and you in the second one, wounded and washing your invisible wounds in rhymes, is very nice, being this poem your den.
I think spiritual wounds hurt more than physical ones, but pain has always been a good fountain of inspiration for poets.
:)
Thank you David. And the trouble is in cyberspace that when something appears or disappears and we would like to know the cause we find ourselves facing a vacuum made of unfathomables. So after all the Gods and their mysteries have never left. From this point of view it's good news!
And thank you Dulcina, I am glad you have appeared on these cyberlands. I really appreciate your comment.
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