My heart is locked in sorrow's tower tall,
Where neither sun nor moon may shed its grace,
And Fortune turns her ever gilded face
Away from me, indifferent to my call.
✨
I knew a time when joy held open court,
When love was sovereign and the days were long,
Yet now I trace the stones where I belong
And watch the seasons shift beyond the wall.
✨
O gentle Spring, thou comest bright and new
With all thy birds declaring life begun,
And still, I am the same imprisoned man.
✨
What profits me that fields are dressed in dew,
That meadows catch the glory of the sun?
My happiness, it seems, has other plans.
✨
The years do pass as clouds above me roll,
Each one a stranger bearing someone's name,
And those I loved have long since ceased to claim
The letters that I wrote to soothe my soul.
✨
Yet love itself, that old and stubborn coal,
Burns underneath the grey ash of my shame,
A warmth no Caribbean Sea, no foreign game
Of politics, may smother or control.
✨
So I shall write my verses till the day
That God in mercy opens wide the door,
And bids my weary spirit go in peace,
✨
For even kings must someday cease to stay
In towers built by war and nothing more,
And even captive hearts must find release.
Author’s Note:
I cannot point to a single moment that gave me the idea for this poem. It grew more out of a feeling than a specific event. I began thinking about the image of a person confined in a tower, watching the seasons change outside while his own life seems paused.
About the Creator
Tim Carmichael
I am an Appalachian poet and cookbook author. I write about rural life, family, and the places I grew up around. My poetry and essays have appeared in Beautiful and Brutal Things, My latest book. Check it out on Amazon
Keep reading
More stories from Tim Carmichael and writers in Poets and other communities.
Silken Chains
Silhouettes of the female form were given flesh and bone. Silken skin glistened under the spotlight. Dry ice rose around our Icons as they danced atop their podiums in the Square. Heralded for their beauty, their movements were slight, powerful, and sensual.
By Paul Stewart7 days ago in Fiction
Comments (6)
Ahhh...."the letters that I write to soothe my soul." Just wonderful. I really enjoyed how lyrical this piece feels. Great job Tim.
Tim, this is incredibly moving. The imagery of the 'stubborn coal' burning beneath the grey ash is so powerful—as someone who thinks a lot about what lies beneath the surface, that metaphor really resonated with me. There is a beautiful, quiet strength in the idea of writing one's way toward release. A truly timeless piece.
Glorious work Tim!
I love this line “And bids my weary spirit go in peace”
This is so beautifully written, Tim.
This is so wistful. Caught between longing and acceptance.