Hope, Despair ~~ A bit of "Micro Poetry" (and history)
Jailed man picture: Nicolas Fouquet and replica prison cell in the
Vaux-le-Vicomte cellar. (see below—click on picture to enlarge)
Click here (my 2010 blog post) for the story of Nicolas Fouquet
Hope and Despair
Through the grains of sand I peer
Freedom's not far, though I fear
For sure it won't be escape,
unless. A saw in my cake
Grains of sand, where is my gem
Shackles and chains, crime's emblem
Fortunes were made, came prestige
All I have, here, loathed vestige
Friends are gone, won't loosen chains
Hope is nill, not in these grains
_ _ _ _
Poem and Photo Copyright © 2015 and 2010 Jimmiehov, All Rights Reserved
Sandgrains picture below from Kerry's post, click on her name below:
To see the world in a grain of sand...
William Blake
Labels: France, Personal-Challenge-2015, Poem, Syllabic Form
posted by Jim @ 12/12/2015 04:10:00 PM
13 comments
13 Comments:
What despair in that prison cell.. I could feel the weight of all those grains on top of his despair.
You do describe the picture well - what hopelessness.
Oh dismal life. How can anyone work in a prison? I'd rather work in a coal mine.
Excellent narrative, Jim. I especially like the closing couplet.
So much drama of despair for those behind bars. One may not feel the traumatic experience unless in their shoes.
Hank
The moment I read of "sand" so close to food (cake), I thought of crunchy eggs... There is always dried and dusty (and haunting) about food in the field.
What a story this is! I cant imagine the spirit it takes to endure such circumstances. And yet, people do.
Grim.
I could feel the weight and despair in this poem. Every bar, a million grains of sand.
What a dark tale. How does one keep hope alive in such circumstance?
to think, despair is, for many many a reality; well penned Jim
much love...
... brought low after having so much. He has all the time in the world to count each speck on his cell wall. I can't even imagine the torture...
Your tale is a legend told in ballad with the rhyme and meter--a precautionary tale. I used to love an old song called the prisoner's song when I was a child--so poignant. --agh. k .
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