This wine is sour

There is loneliness in this room,
a sinking feeling of drowning
in a bottomless pool of ice water.
Still, I speak to you
in a voice filled with a
shiver of doubt.
I know you hear me, though
you are not really there,
just your shell, an aging
skin encasing your flesh.
“How did we ever arrive here?
A sigh ripples the morbidity
of the moment,
a whispered breath moving
the useless lint filled air.
“Did life pass us by or did we leave it behind?
Your lips do not speak and
I do not know the answer.
Our time is locked in the
chains of indifference,
the tireless agitation
of night and day,
our shadows falling
behind us, flat, lifeless.
“Tell me how you feel, please!
It is a moot question,
where there was light,
the spark has been extinguished.
The passion now soot,
the ashes of love’s fire
doused with complacency.
“This wine is sour, don’t you think?”
I hear no response, for your tongue
is clothed in the darkness
of your guarded thoughts.
It is folly, no grape fills our glass,
only the sour bitter root
of our future,  a toast of hemlock
to all that we were or could have been.

Copyright: 2010, Donald Harbour

11 thoughts on “This wine is sour

  1. Hi Donald, long time, no see! Glad to be back visiting but there’s a chill in the air here! Some wonderful if painful phrases;
    “A sigh ripples the morbidity/of the moment,/a whispered breath moving/the useless lint filled air.”
    “Our time is locked in the/chains of indifference, … our shadows falling/behind us, flat, lifeless.”
    “only the bitter root/of our futures, hemlock/to all that we were or could have been.”
    I’m hoping you’ve just been using your vivid imagination!


  2. There is so much resignation here. I crave just one line of acceptance. One word of hope. But, that would spoil the heavy cement that holds this poem together. Dark, but your word choice and imagery bring a light to the overall view.



  3. Donald, This is filled with the pain of a life well lived. Choices present themselves, openings to endings. Somber tone, well crafted. Would love to hear you read it aloud…it flows without effort.


  4. Donald, this hit very close to home for me, it could have been written about my parents and their 65 year marriage…
    quite sad and quite profound.


  5. no grape fills our glass,
    only the bitter root
    of our futures, hemlock
    to all that we were or could have been.

    Wow! Talk about a conversation killer! 🙂

    Good poem, Donald!


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