Monday, October 23, 2006

Existence Transient

Written May 17 2006*

an anchorless
existence.

transient.

wandering.

waking
to look
through opaque windows,

walking
to stare at
distance shores,

passing others,

others take no notice.

weighted to no one.

isn’t this
what they call freedom?

isn’t this
what I wanted?







* To me this is one of my most depressing poems because it speaks to being abandoned and also to abandoning yourself, your home, your loved ones and being left hopeless.

5 comments:

crimsonflaw said...

again.... your sorrow is so elegant... it floats through the reader's worth of meaning like a ghostly prow in magical fog...i will rave and rave and rave over this one....

Susan Abraham said...

Crimson is right, Sara.
You have the easy ability to carry sorrow with a commendable grace in your poems.
I didn't associate this with abandonement at all but rather with a lady walking through a busy thoroughfare or a quiet park recovering from a heartbreak or crisis.
It is a cold freezing day. She has her collar turned up, her hands are squeezed into her pockets and the wind is blowing her hair.
And she walks along to a quiet Garkfunkel song like The Dangling Conversation and she looks reflective and pensive but uncertain.
Then someone calls and she turns around to look - all at once expectant and hopeful.
This is you and your talent Sara - utterly beautiful, romantic and bewitching to the watchful eye & I mean that from my heart.

love

writerwoman said...

Susan,

That is amazing how you weaved a whole story from my poem. I loved reading your take on it. It made my sad tale of a homeless, lonely person turn into a love story. Now if that isn't magic I don't know what is?

writerwoman said...

Crimson,

hey friend, I am so happy I stumbled onto your blog because reading your work inspires me and I love that you find mine worth reading too. Your praise humbles me.

Sara

Anonymous said...

This is simply an inspiration. Fortunetly for me, I'm so medicated I don't get to feel these emotions unless they are written well enough for me to draw them from a poem. You did it. You have a rare talent. Keep it up.