So there it is.
The end has come.
He lays half naked,
Dead in his pool.
A tragic story
In all its glory.
And there it is,
That painful longing,
For what?
For whom?
Why does my heart
Clench and squeeze
Like I'm missing
An essential piece
Of myself?
Like there's a gaping
Hole, my heart is aching!
Oh this melancholy!
This emptiness!
This feeling that
The green light
Has lost all of
Its previous meaning!
How can I function?
Is this what happens
To a dream deferred?
Have my life and
My ambitions been
Crusted over
Like a sugary sweet?
afterword: I would like to add a quote from Vladimir Nabokov, author of Lolita, on the Russian word 'Toskà' so that you too might understand the feeling that was infused in my veins as I wrote this poem.
"No single word in English renders all the shades of toskà. At its deepest and most painful, it is a sensation of great spiritual anguish, often without any specific cause. At less morbid levels it is a dull ache of the soul, a longing with nothing to long for, a sick pining, a vague restlessness, mental throes, yearning. In particular cases it may be the desire for somebody of something specific, nostalgia, love-sickness. At the lowest level it grades into ennui, boredom."
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Chasing Green Lights
PoetryA collection of notes, thoughts, possible rants or stream of consciousness paragraphs, essays, poems, and short answer responses about the American Dream. Enjoy feelings of hope, desperation, love, loss, death, rebirth, and all the things that gene...
