A Lingering Pause

I recently wrote this poem. It reflects the miserable feeling of being stuck. I hope you will enjoy it.

A Lingering Pause

By: J Philip Harris

I linger in the afternoon, the afternoon that lingers

Empty on the makers loom, tangled by the stringer

My body drags the aged floor alone and out of breath

Sleeping in the secret curve, estranged and scared to death


I linger in the bygone years, the bygone years that linger

They fool me, so I stay awhile enamored by the memories

My heart is nailed to dogwood limbs, deserted in the sterile range

Banished from the brotherhood, eaten by the mange


I linger in the open wound, the open wound that lingers

And slip the silence on my hands; No, slip it on my fingers

Like bells of heat reminding me that trouble’s ever at my door

To touch a wretched criminal completely at his core


I linger in the midnight hour, the midnight hour that lingers

I reach to pull its blanket down but quickly break my fingers


I’m tired of the Lingering, the emptying, the fingering

I’m tired of the empty fields leading up to harvest

I’m tired of the fire trail blazing through my forest


Rest to want

Rest to have

Rest to keep from pausing

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