The Fist by Derek Walcott

The way I panic and can’t breathe, drowning in a dream. The way I wake up gasping, not knowing where I’ve been.

The Fist
Derek Walcott

The fist clenched round my heart
loosens a little, and I gasp
brightness; but it tightens
again. When have I ever not loved
the pain of love? But this has moved

past love to mania. This has the strong
clench of the madman, this is
gripping the ledge of unreason, before
plunging howling into the abyss.

Hold hard then, heart. This way at least you live.

2 Comments

  1. such a melancholy poem and a melancholy site. i love them both! they resonate with me glad i found you and Derek Walcott (again).

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