cave people

Tonight in my nest of stones I have not slept.

My neighbors argue over how to spend life

as it slips to the  base of the hour glass

with no  warning that the last grains are  falling or that

too many  have already passed through its narrow neck.

It seems sensible to be there for the short time allowed.

I endure the boredom of my dark cave expecting metaphors

to fall  into my begging palm like coins in a vagrants cup.

Empty handed in the unkempt night I waste my own life

rearranging derelict books to decay eventually in a forsaken attic.

Plundering through their pages, I console myself,

looting them with my intrusive mind.



55 thoughts on “cave people

  1. What defines a wasted life? This is a hard question to answer because the answer is different for everyone. Life is beautiful because it is short, I feel there is a redemptive message in this piece, great work.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I like the poem that recalls me the myth of the Cave of Plation .
    Organize old books , this reminds me of the recent efforts I had to do to gather in an organized way sheets of musical partitions scattered ion the floor after falling of the shelf. I What a pleasure !!
    Love ❤

    Liked by 1 person

    • Hi Michel, I actually had Plato’s Cave in mind when I wrote this. I think sometimes we live not knowing what is beside, behind, or before us. I hope you successfully retrieved your music sheets.
      Much love to you!


  3. “I endure the boredom of my dark cave expecting metaphors
    to fall into my begging palm like coins in a vagrants cup”.
    I absolutely like those verses, dear Holly…
    your poem reminded me of Plato´s analogy of the cave…
    Plus… I believe that Every poet flees from the madding crowd…
    Thanks for such a deeply penned poem…
    Love and best wishes. Aquileana ⭐

    Liked by 1 person

  4. I am sure you can be out in the open, Holly, instead of remaining a cave woman with vision limited by flickering light from the fireplace, symbolic of finite treasures that can be picked from derelict volumes in the confines of stony nests. The vistas may widen out in broad daylight but it is still finite thus in a larger sense we are all cave dwellers living in an illusory world.

    Liked by 1 person

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