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Delineation

I visited your house,
and its face
devoured by vines
left me desolate

I remembered
hurrying to live,
your hands
cracked,
they now lay
crumbled
to dust

The mysteries
scoring your face,
pitting the pores,
mimicking skin,
are now forever
closed in pine.

Suddenly beauty rose
in your wild garden,
and dragonflies
grazed my mind,
I silently conceded
with a sigh,

That the equation
and the totality
of your lifetime,
will now never
be solved.

Some conundrums
are pure splendor,
and shall in no time
be deciphered.

Style / type: 
Free verse
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Editing stage: 

Comments

I most like how it states a longing in memory for someone without any bitterness or tragic sadness.

And I like how it hints that the lives were connected but through points rather than integrated and that those points brought joy.

I believe the first two stanzas could be more effective with more deliberate punctuation to indicate the pacing you desire.

But this is a piece that begs for the looseness and suggestion you have given it and reads like the sighs of someone struck by a sudden, unlooked for, memory.

---------------------------------------------------------

Jonathan Moore

Your very right there is no bitterness or tragic sad tale to this person its just joyful memories, and your right the lives were connected but by pinpoints of pure elation, I am still working this one and any punctuation advice would be great I still suck at it but I am working on it...

and yes I was struck by memory rather unexpectedly hence the poem it is as new as they get from me

thanks for the read and your thoughts they are always appreciated

love Jayne x

("Always and Forever") - (Never lose a holy curiosity.-Albert Einstein)

author comment

concise to propelling

Thanks Emeka

glad you enjoyed it

regards Jayne x

("Always and Forever") - (Never lose a holy curiosity.-Albert Einstein)

author comment

Maybe I need to be YOUR protégé. This is very sad and very ethereal. Quite beautiful really.

W. H. Snow

A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds. Percy Bysshe Shelley

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I don't think so lol you could teach me much more than I could ever teach you my friend but I appreciate that you like this one, thanks for the read and your visit its always very much appreciated

love Jayne x

("Always and Forever") - (Never lose a holy curiosity.-Albert Einstein)

author comment
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