Keys

I walked, fiddled with keys.
Held in chain, clinging.
Fumbled them, in my hand.
Meaningless now, as they were.

Keys! - Which opened no doors.
Doors! - Which led nowhere.
Halls, passages, rooms.
Empty spaces sliding by.

Passed - Until all my doors.
Were locked, with security.
Sealed with heed.
Bridges, thus burned!

Reality, locked away.
Hidden from me.
Mind and heart.
As it were.

How I miss thee!
Forgetfulness and fate.
Purpose, to life passed.
Enclosed in my space.

Missed dawn and deed.
Midnight and darkness.
Together, they came.
Muted silence.

Amongst crowd.
Passing by.
Busy, as ants.
Buzzing, as bees.

I watched them.
Flocking, like sheep.
Meaningless, their significance.
Naught! They are.

Bound!
Thus same, as me.
Yet content.
While I, cannot be.

Melancholy days.
Friends.
Hopes lost.
Thus betrayed.

Whom to question?
Whom to blame?
For this treachery.

Alas - None, but me!

Who could claim that prize?
Who was assured, convinced?
Of thy merits – Misdeed!
As it proved, to be.

Drunk I was.
Intoxicated, by my potency.
Where it would end.
I should have known.

Indeed, suspected...

Against truth still - I went.
Fixed facts around wishes.
Based hope upon greed.
Performed such wickedness.

Now muted are those bellows.
Away flown, those excellent fellows.
Who accompanied.
Ensured my ruin.

Hastened, by its call.
Denials, expectations.
False gains.
All such pains.

Tired, I fall - Wish to dream.
Wake again, nevermore...

User Rating: 5 / 5 ( 0 votes ) 14

Comments (14)

Regrets are the hardest emotions to try and live with this old man longs to see his beloved again, in his mind she is still young and the love of his life. His pain is brought to life in this beautifully written poem as he wishes he never thrown the ring into the river like he had thrown his life and love to drown in the cold waters of losing his only love!
In every young woman who passes in his side. Nice work.
Wonderful poem written from deep experience. The poet succeeded in bringing to fore what we all go through in life. Kudos!
I was amazed. I am myself an old man. I am often misunderstood. When I see a piece of beauty I never desire to have it. I just remember my past lovely youth, the sweet memories make me happy and I smile. Some times I comment on my friendly poetesses in a manner which makes them unhappy. Sometimes my pen is slipped and I am careless in expressing myself, e.g., if I write, I love You., it does not mean I am your lover, I haven't seen you, I don't know you and I am too old to love someone in the commonly understood sense. I simply mean your poems are beautiful and I love your poems. I am thankful to you that this lovely poem inspired me to write this comment and gave me an opportunity to clarify me and my comments.
A Fantastic poem. Old man forgot that, time has taken him too far away and he no longer young for he is searching for his love of younger days. Today he standing on the bridge that is connecting life and death, only the noise of the bell remind him that he is alive. Beautiful flow of words... Congrats...This poem is chosen as poem of the day! ! !
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