Despair
There is the darkest river/ that flows inside of me/ none have ever plumbed the depths /or felt the hollow need /the hunger cavernous and cold /the pain and black despair/ the overwhelming emptiness /when my master is not there
Despair
A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.
Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.
Title | Comments | Submitted |
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Title | Comments | Submitted |
Next | 1 | 10/07/2009 |
Pascal's Wager | 0 | 10/07/2009 |
Death? Poetry | 2 | 10/07/2009 |
Love is the question | 5 | 10/06/2009 |
Silent thoughts | 3 | 10/05/2009 |
The Last of Love | 0 | 10/05/2009 |
Red Tide | 0 | 10/05/2009 |
I am never Lonely | 1 | 10/05/2009 |
Thought Thief | 0 | 10/05/2009 |
Prison of Fear | 1 | 10/05/2009 |
Soul Hunger | 0 | 10/05/2009 |
My Master has come | 0 | 10/05/2009 |
Shared Silence | 1 | 10/05/2009 |
Despair | 0 | 10/05/2009 |
Chasm | 0 | 10/05/2009 |
Mimic | 0 | 10/05/2009 |
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