Beneath that ancient oak and underneath the darkling sky,
I once declared to you the doubts that kept me caged.
No matter what I wrote - however hard I tried -
The ink would never dry upon my page.
You listened with a tenderness that grew from what we sowed,
And brushed away my tears with blossom in your hands;
You knew my banks would break - the river overflow -
And wash away the earth that let me stand.
You cradled me and held me with those eyes that kept me sane,
And though I cried, you raised a sore and ragged heart;
I know you still, through all these many years and pain,
And wish, what is my end, was just the start.
I now recall that time, reflecting on the path I forged,
And wonder if the grass was ever really green.
I'll sit beneath this cursed oak forevermore,
And dream of all the things that only in my dreams I've seen.
Mr Pickard, I've not heard lines as powerful as these in some time:
"I'll sit beneath this cursed oak forevermore,
And dream of all the things that only in my dreams I've seen."
I did this just tonight actually. Though there was sand where the Oak should be, but when I watched the waves for long enough I could see some remnants of dreams in them. As always, your writing is brilliant. Thank you for sharing your work with us all :)
An absolutely beautiful poem, Dad, consisting of an A,B,A,B, rhyme structure, and one line of fourteen syllables, two of twelve and then a line of ten syllables at the end of each stanza, though, in the final stanza, the syllable count changes to fourteen, twelve, twelve, fourteen.
A truly stunning piece to read, well rhymed and worded throughout. I loved the last stanza best, because of the power in it.