Words Between The Wrinkles

Crinkled, crusted and tanned,
years have eroded over his parchment
leaving layers of regret.
His last words were barely legible;
scribbled painfully in penumbra blue,
expressing the ephemeral pleasures
he once embraced.
The quintessence of life,
his past was a Renaissance
craving creativity to survive.
His poetry played rhapsodies
and seduced nymphs to dance to his passions.
Immersed in words which can only whisper,
I feel his ethereal presence like a soft hush.
Ruminating beyond any imaginable realm,
I humbly yet desperately struggle
to comprehend the suicide of a tormented poet,
while still enraptured with the gifts he left behind.
Faded ink slowly evaporates out of a life
which became a paradox of words between the wrinkles….



About echowood628

Let me start by saying I have been involved in creative endeavors my entire life. I began playing the piano at age two, composed my first song at age four, and ever since have spent almost every day spending hours allowing my fingers to dance across my keyboard. Composing music for the piano gave me a place to heal and find peace. An art major in college I focused on drawing and figure drawing and I also enjoy oil painting and watercolors. I have always enjoyed poetry and more recently started writing poems and enjoying the freedom and limitlessness of expressing my heart with paper and ink. I am divorced with two grown children. My daughter is a published author and my son is attending college majoring in zoology.
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