Writer’s Lament – a poem

Writer’s Lament

By N. M. Sirett©

WRITER’S LAMENT – A POEM

There’re books in her eyes so they turn away,

Away from glass panes and those lives beyond eyes.

For to see through those windows and into that soul

Might loosen their grip on perceptions they hold.

Might slacken constructions they’ve built in their minds,

Of the fickle, the pointless, disinterest and lies.

Might reveal something else that that they don’t dare to see

Through those windows reflecting a calm nothing sea.

And slowly the waves fold in on themselves, those watery eyes

And their whispering tales,

Sinking deep in her soul, carried off by the whales.

Currents run deep and they turn away,

Not wishing to drown in some fathomless day. Not wishing to

Try to imagine those worlds, in the bottomless seas

And abysses unfurled.

Like a conch of abundance her stories are told,

To the air and the octopus, the coral and rocks.

To the lighthouse she heads, with her siren-sung verse.

To be free from the storm and this lonely word-curse.

There’re books in her eyes, though the pages are wet.

And the boats sail on past, and the sailors forget.