Once, I Read A Letter Penned

Once, I read a letter penned

In dead of night, ‘mid howling wind,

And tempest raging so in heart

Of him who words on parchment marked.


Such sorrow, pain, and gloom - alas!

Did spring from paper, like a glass

To cast again an image dim

Upon my mind; ’twas truly him.


His words were pained and aching so

For light to break the dreary glow

Of hollow hopes and shattered dreams;

He sought the golden, sunlit gleam.


This man did yearn for hope restored,

For love’s requite and future’s morn,

And in their absence, down his thoughts

Plunged deep to darkened sea, distraught.


My heart does break for such a man,

Whose heart was true, and strong his hand;

But shadows creeping stole his peace,

And surest man is now the least.

Comments

  1. AnonymousSeptember 14, 2022 at 11:17 PM

    That’s sobering.

    ReplyDelete
  2. John W. MaySeptember 18, 2022 at 8:05 PM

    Impressive work! The poem had me imagine a soul tormented, whether by depression or thoughts of self-negation. The image of Schongauer’s painting (“The Torment of Saint Anthony”) came to mind. I’m reminded of the internal anguish of some of my favorite writers: Kierkegaard, Bunyan, Tolstoy …

    Tolstoy once wrote (imagine being the recipient of such a letter penned),

    “I felt that something had broken within me on which my life had always rested, that I had nothing left to hold on to, and that morally my life had stopped. An invincible force impelled me to get rid of my existence, in one way or another. It cannot be said exactly that I wished to kill myself, for the force which drew me away from life was fuller, more powerful, more general than any mere desire. It was a force like my old aspiration to live, only it impelled me in the opposite direction. It was an aspiration of my whole being to get out of life.”

    I also feel the hopeless desperation of the reader. Dark work, but of necessity must be.

    ReplyDelete

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