After The Sermon

I try not to go down memory lane.
The packages there,
I don't want to open them.
It's not like Xmas, when the joy
is seeing joy and it's multiplication.

What hurts is not me.
Behind regrets and hatred
is that silence where no 'other'
is remembered; no 'other'
niggles me with pain.

I lie still and try to be calm,
to rest as if floating
and when the buzz saw outside
intrudes, it's only the builder
next door, making something new.

About This Poem

Editing Stage: Editing - rough draft

About the Author

Region, Country: Sydney, New South Wales, Australia, AUS

Favorite Poets: Dylan Thomas, T.S Eliot, Stevie Smith, Chaucer, Shakespeare, Marvell, Herbert, Gerald Manley Hopkins, Rilke, Holderlin, Baudelaire, Verlaine, Rimbaud, Valery, Gregory Corso, Alan Ginsberg, Phillip Larkin, Elizabeth Bishop, Wordsworth, Shelley, Keats, Yeats, Ferlinghetti, Tony Hoagland, Ezra Pound, Joni Mitchell, Bob Dylan, Leonard Cohen, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Browning, Petra Whiteley, Blake, Thomas Hardy, Syvia Plath, Pablo Naruda, Lorca, Cole Porter, A.E Cummings, Walt whitman, Tennyson, Shelley, Byron, Coleridge, Les Murray, Gig Ryan, Edward Dorn, Emily Dickinson, Robert Frost, Seamus Heaney.

Comments

Frenchf

12 years 6 months ago

Interesting

Why the builder? Who preached? Confusing yet thought provoking write

Ross Hamilton Hill

12 years 6 months ago

hi

preacher was a YouTube guru, an real Indian guru but I can't remember his name, hence the idea of the silence behind thoughts of pain, the builder just happened to be there, a reminder that the outer world will and must intrude.

Ross Hamilton Hill

12 years 6 months ago