My Nights Are Drowning In Tears

When you say you need me
my whole world begins to change
vibrant with life...

When you reach for my hand
just for us to take another dance
in true romance....

when you hold me while I sleep
I feel so safe and complete....
But when I know you are about to leave me
my whole world becomes so empty,

My days are gray and my nights are
long and cold without you to hold,
It hurts me so when you leave me so alone...

My nights are drowning in tears and fears
not having you near...
Oh, how this world seems to hate me
they love to see me broken,

They look at me like I am a token
that is lost in a dream....
Oh, how they love to see me scream
because the pains are hard for me to bear,

Oh, I can always read the haters eyes
while they go around and tell their lies,
I remember that cold September night
when Dark Angel taken over my life,

Oh, I hated the waiting for my freedom
I hated waiting for someone to care
while I have been carrying all this fear
for many long empty years....

those memories come to me
like a ghost in the crying winters wind,
I can almost hold your image in my mind
where old imagination dancing around
making my heart miss you all over again,

Every time I see a rose in new bloom
I look at them like a symbol of your love
where purity that holds ancient colors
in powers of excellence of you and me
even in my most darken dreams.

Poetic Judy Emery

by Poetic Judy L Emery

Comments (3)

I am a published author..When I attended Aurora U. in IL, I minored in English and sociology and was introduced to the fantastic A.R. Ammons, I remembered his poetry when I was 58. He made that much of an impression on me
from what black wells of possibility, how a thing will unfold: Yes this poem has unfolded from such a black well of possibility. The poem found Avon and me too as Frank Avon has commented here below. Great! (10)
This, I think, is a clear statement of Ammons' way of writing - indeed, his very purpose for writing. not seeking or discovering the poem, but letting the poem find him, and at the same time, finding his reader. Of the modernist poets, I think Ammons is the one most concerned about this readers - about finding common ground with us. The poem, to him, should be as natural as a birch tree (and as striking) , but it must come naturally. It actually can't be created; it must unfold itself from black wells of possibility. Poets must open themselves (and the readers they bear in themselves) to the simple unfolding of a spiral of meaning from the many, many possibilities, unforeseen. The 'shape' cannot be imposed; it must spiral forth.