I am every bit a dragonfly today
feeding on fleeting days,
the crisp fall air
turning my stomach,
my wings barely tangible.

There will be snow soon
and I will be lost in it.

I can find no hope in the tainted
leaves, the turning season,
the expanding night.

There seems no reason to rhyme,
no color that is brave enough,
no metaphor complete.

I will understate my fragility
and will suffer it alone.

As useless as the dying year
with its dispiriting quiet
and incurable days,
I linger, only just, ragged-winged
within diminished words.

User Rating: 5,0 / 5 ( 2 votes ) 6

Comments (6)

How much we have Walt Whitman to thank for Poems like these that can soar without the chains of rhyme and meter and yet bound within that sphere of clipped impact. Adeline
Although a bit pessimistic but still very good poem reflecting strength of words. Mark Nwagwa's comments are the best words to share this poem.
I really like your ending. good job. *Purkey Girl*
Butterfly is all that I feel half finished still clinging to the umblical cord of the Palette replaced before drying
I will understate my fragility, and will suffer it alone - no, you won't; not after you take the pains to write it all down, crisp and inviting, we'll all be there within diminished words, lingering, till full-fledged spring gives us new songs of mountains rising, as we grab on the sides and pull ourselves up, to the top, where the words leave their meaning - but climb we will into new words filled with the human fragility of our striking nobility.10 for the unknown strengths of fragility
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