(19 November 1899 - 9 February 1979 / Winchester, Kentucky)

Grasping

Grasping, gasping, pulling me down,
Holding tight to nothing,  
Still falling, tumbling from midnight places,  
These worn out faces won't let me be. 

My tears give me shelter 
Shadows, my only companion now. 
Take me out but I'm not there,  
I'm just an illusion left behind. 

Stumbling, falling, failing,  
Mad from life's history
Glad to be hurled
Anywhere, anywhere, out of this world

Grasping, gasping,  
Holding tight to nothing,  
Losing my horizons,  
Still falling,  
Anywhere from this world 
Swift from death's mystery,

Away from this world 

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Comments (6)

Beautiful poem! ! ! ...... Thanks for sharing.......
This is a very good poem about significance of light. Very nice. Thanks for sharing.
Love the style of writing.—reminds me of Emily Dickinson. Interesting comparison of the erect night to “stiff turf in winter sod” in the 3rd verse. Love the ending “the forward curse of a cold eye in the headlong hearse.” Enjoyed reading this piece
Alan Tate is such an interesting read. He rides the cusp between the free verse and imagry movement ('with the careless energy of a dream') and the strict rhyme/meter of the 19th century with grace and brilliance.
A nervous window bled Stunning write depicting diverse manifestations of light. Thanks for sharing it here.
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