by HemmingPlay


I crave the right words.
“They’ll solve any problem”.
Name it. Shame it. Smoke it out. 
Smite it without sentiment. 
I must believe. 
Poetic conceit. OCD
in a river of confusions. 
Order in chaos, 
in the mystery of my 
own despairs, questions, hopes,
doubts. Secrets. 

So… each day I
hunt the elusive truffle,
the best way
to capture a tiny
hidden reward.
I’m not “sad”. Not depressed, really.
I carry stubborn sorrows.
and that comes as
a shock. But…
You can’t push the river.
I’m looking for the waters 
from a deeper source.
Not money or fame,
not love nor lust. 
Nor man’s God nor faith…
I’ve chased them all, but
I’m thirsty for the water from
a deeper well.  

Yesterday, I sat with my
despairs, my angers
and after a while, 
they confessed
they are really just grief. 
“Sometimes,” Anger said, 
“they’re fears, too.” 

Regrets. Loneliness.
Loss so deep the ache 
may be permanent. 
I hope for the right words, 
In the midst of despair
comes hope. 
There must be a pony
in the pile of waste somewhere. 
There can be beauty 
amidst the mediocre bits
of an ordinary life. 

With the right words. 


4 Comments to “Words”

  1. With the right words a poet can move mountains. And you’ve moved one here. Wonderful wordsmithery!

  2. Fantastic poem, almost every darkness ends in light, or there are stars!

  3. There IS “beauty amidst the mediocre bits of ordinary life” – – – it all has to do with where we focus. Like Hemmingway, “I’m thirsty for the water from a deeper well. ” (Was that Hemmingway, or was that YOU who wrote that? This poetry provides that water… and I am grateful. Thank you!

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