Poem Number 23164

Autumn

Late at night, I sat at a bar called “nowhere”
to have a drink with others with my same fears
strangers in solitude engaged in frail companionship,
drowning our life´s insecurities in tobacco and beer,
while on the inside my soul drowns in copious tears.
I raised my bottle to the tired-looking guy next to me,
¨It is autumn. I am alone, thinking of her, as leaves fall.¨
he said as he acknoledged me with gesture that I could see,
¨Her presence was the only light that made me whole
replaced by the melody of my soul´s pity that I can´t ignore.
Those bright sunsets of my distant, happy childhood
That warm wind that shakes the children of spring,
the woods´ lovely sounds which echo new life,
Without her presence just do not hold meaning,
and those winds now only carry me to internal strife.
It is autumn. It seems that I debate my life´s resignation,
I am alone and my body feels that autumn is an empty journey,
my feet have grown tired in the long roads to love and pain,
a pain that pulsates and weakens and yet remains and remains
until I find confort inside a bottle, my new best friend.¨
I nodded as I savored my last taste of fermented barley,
Thinking of you, hearing a familiar song from a stranger,
words of long lost love, the music of the autumn night
My hopeless friend could easily be confused with me,
but it was my decision as I was the one that set you free.
¨H¨

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Brought to you by Budweiser
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give me a break.
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Hermestri:
Excellent I believe that "style" often announces a superb writer. Three lines into your beautiful poem, I knew who this poet is. Thus can many acclaimed poets be identified by their "style". I'll sit with you in a bar any day.
sg

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I sometimes wonder
where you are
it's autumn,
leaves now fall
are you near or far?
Have you found love aknew?
the kind I had for you,
gentle, caring and true
do you sometimes miss me too?
because happy days in life are few.
.
xoxo2

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"H", You always touch me with your rhymes, so again I add my grain of sand. xoxo2
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"H"-it occurs to me (belatedly) that you are not Hermestri. What an idiot that makes me in my comments above about how I can recognize his style anywhere. LOL. I seem to recall that you explained about a former poem you had written in "Hermestri style" that you admire his work. Either I am a fool or you are an excellent imitator. I don't think that Hermestri hangs out at bars, probably. He probably is more likely to be found wandering the stratosphere searching for his dark images. Anyway, I liked your poem and I'd still have a drink with you. lol
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I love the ending of the poem, "I was the one who set you free." That's the pits, I know. Been there. Done that. You know it was your doing but it hurts anyhow.
By the way, does no one find it interesting that nobody fesses up. I mention that this might not be Hermestri but an imposter and nobody comes forward. Interesting, my dear Watson.
sg
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Perhaps it is Moriarty, my dear sg. Come quickly, the game is afoot...f
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Perhaps. Perhaps. Such strange things go on in this world. Thank you for your comment.
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I was in love with the moon (or thought I was in love with the moon) until the sun blinded me.
sg
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Hermestri:
Time to post again.
sg