Author Information
Last Inch of Flame
Folder:
Sorrow While noise shuffles thoughts
like cards
I wonder how youth plunged
so far, so fast
and became this life,
how the fever of dreams
broke too soon
before I could have a chance
to flirt with them, court them
inhabit them.
When was this screaming infant
born in my chest
who now kicks at a heart
overworked by survival?
Thoughts are pencilled in
like meetings,
inspiration, fought for, like
a promotion,
dreams, untamed mares of the mind,
sprint past like screams:
you thought you heard something
but perhaps you didn't.
Silence now.
Another day is smothered
before it had a chance to breathe.
by Patricia Joan Jones
There's a quiet devastation
There's a quiet devastation that weaves through this poem and is a hushed lament against the smothering weight of survival and distraction. It mourns unlived dreams and the fragments of self lost along the way, as youth fades and ambition turns bureaucratic. The metaphor of a “screaming infant” in the chest hauntingly captures the buried self yearning to be heard. Your imagery, especially dreams as wild mares and inspiration as a corporate climb, speaks of creativity caged by obligation. That final line feels like smoke trailing off a barely-lit match: soft, final, unforgettable. This poem doesn’t just reflect sorrow, it becomes the very breath that sorrow exhales.
here is poetry that doesn't always conform
galateus, arkayye, arqios,arquious, crypticbard, excalibard, wordweaver
You drilled deep with such
You drilled deep with such vision, wisdom and precision that I consider this an expansion of my thoughts—a poetic follow up and therefore the highest praise.
Thank you for your gift.
Retired now, I no longer chase the almighty dollar, but I do have family responsibilities and personal endeavors that keep me very preoccupied and less motivated to read and write poetry. That’s why I’m not around much, but I do intend to return to your page when I get a chance and read your latest wonders.
You have the gift, and I would be a poorer soul if I missed your poetic sorcery in the distraction of mundane living.
Stay inspired, Mage of Words.
Again..wonderful