What do we wish for
Just what use is a fortune
Or Sevres porcelain?
Once at Christmas time
Hopes whistled up the chimney
Then we were children
Stood at a cliff’s edge
Are my foolish dreams of you
Now six fathoms deep?
You’ve ripped my heart out
Drilled pain into my sad soul
Since you split with me
Nun’s habit for you?
I think not, your eyes elsewhere
And mine? In a pit.
Drink up, be merry
So my friends encourage me
But I’ve still lost you
Note: "six fathoms deep" was once considered to be the minimum depth to bury a body at sea!
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"Cheer up, you'll get over it". Yeah, right.
ReplyDeleteOk, so I never do literary references but I do remember the Tempest -
ReplyDeleteFull fathom five thy father lies;
Of his bones are coral made;
Those are pearls that were his eyes:
Nothing of him that doth fade,
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange.
Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell:
Ding-dong.
Hark! now I hear them—Ding-dong, bell.
If we can't cope with sea nymphs..exchange them for pussy cat's in the well..but there's always hope for wishes, chimney pots and people to find us and make our islands happy again..jumping just snaps your ankles..
I think they like to make it a little deeper these days Jae! Damn Shakespeare, why did he write so well?
DeleteFriends never 'get' the pain you feel, do they? This is beautifully written!
ReplyDeleteI do hope this is not autobiographical, and that you are happier than in the poem.
ReplyDeleteI hope we never lose the ones we love.
ReplyDeleteAnnell's hope is the hope we all hold, knowing all the while that loss is inevitable. It's a wonder any of us make it through this life with a shred of sanity intact, considering the losses---and your poem ends on a note of loss.
DeleteQuirky Quartet
Losing her to nun's habit would be more tolerable I guess.
ReplyDeleteWell wordled, old egg. I'm joining your friends with a drink up, be merry. Happy Sunday to you!
ReplyDeleteWhat a nice elegy...Sometimes we find a joy in the melancholy. Some drink - just what we need to add to feel the whole...
ReplyDeleteFriends seldom understand that grief takes its own time and path, they want us to be what we were and we simply can't until we are ready to do so. Happy Father's Day to you,
ReplyDeleteElizabeth
Sad to lose when we aren't ready or willing. Unrequited love stinks and apparently sinks six fathoms deep. ;) Happy Father's Day, OE.
ReplyDeleteLoosing is part of life.. and we can never win if we never lose.. still it sucks when it happens.
ReplyDeleteFirst of all, I love this poem. Sometimes losing at love stinks. Second of all, I hope you had a super time for Father's Day. Maybe not exactly in that order.
ReplyDeletePamela
Thank you Flaubert. In Australia we don't celebrate Fathers Day until September. However my son and daughter-in-law did take me out to lunch which seemed to celebrate the day appropriately.
Deleteah, the painful lost of love you suffer while she off partying with another guy. :)
ReplyDeleteGreat poem