Solace

1 Comments

Tags:
  • Emotional
    • ,
  • Sadness
    • ,
  • Confusion
    • ,
  • Passion
    • ,
  • Anger

    Solace

     Solace lies in the fact that you are with me;
    Outside and inside you seep into my very self,
    My unanswered love.
    Pouring into my thoughts sometimes you're a disease,
    Some infection I can't shake.
    I strain to see why you invade my core, myself.
    Where did I find you?  Is there really fate?
    Questions rack my brain, seething, bringing me no sleep.
    I only wish to find who I am without an invasion of my space,
    With no constant reminder of noise from the outside.
    Free me...let me be alright!
    I'm tired and lost in a constant struggle,
    A translucent bubble.
    Can you even comprehend my feelings?
    Silence will come in which lifetime?
    Perhaps this comfort does not exist.
    Give me my solace that I once knew in you again.

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    laydbak1 commented on Solace

    07-01-2009

    There seems to be a battle going on here.... You begin saying there is solace that they are with you, then you move away from that security, and begin questioning why they're there... I understand the angst, but the solace doesn't seem like it's own reward somehow... Still a good write though...
    Reply to Comment

    MandyJ

    09/01/2009

    Hi laydbak1. Thanks for all your insight into my poetry. I appreciate the input. Yes, there was a time when I felt really alone, like I had this void inside that couldn't be filled with anything. Then I found the Lord. Now, I have more purpose and meaning, but still some confusion, not about Jesus, but about life. I think it is that way for all of us though in one way or another. It's hard figuring out who I am sometimes. I feel caught between my past and the here and now, but hopefully in the end it will all make sense. Sorry it took so long to get back to you. I haven't been here in a while. :-)

    In science one tries to tell people, in such a way as to be understood by everyone, something that no one ever knew before. But in poetry, it's the exact opposite.

    Franz Kafka (1883-1924) Czech writer.

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