This is a poem I wrote in May 1988 while in New Brunswick. It is the result of both a conscious effort at the craft of poety, in that the rhyme scheme and meter were planned, and as a catharsis for my heart, which was still somewhat at a loss at the time. It came about after reading a letter from a friend in university who was taking an English Creative Writing course. He sent me an example of something he wrote as an assignment, and I sat down and wrote this poem over two or three days, partly to exercise my mind in this craft as well as to finally get rid of an old ache in my chest. Would that the Muse had fain eased my hand in its creation !
Now flies through wounded soul a sigh
while tears that belie many years
do rise from depthless wells
to fall again on cheeks still warm
and stain the lingering blush of hope
which fancy paints but scorn does fade;
Now beats the heart in troubled breast
whose cords do heed the words
that wrest from times long past
laments hid deep within its walls
which, much as echoes lose their cry,
depart alone with lasting grief.
r oansar t