The Letters

Leonard Cohen 1934 - 2016

You never liked to get
The letters that I sent.
But now you've got the gist
Of what my letters meant.

You're reading them again,
The ones you didn't burn.
You press them to your lips,
My pages of concern.

I said there'd been a flood.
I said there's nothing left.
I hoped that you would come.
I gave you my address.

Your story was so long,
The plot was so intense,
It took you years to cross
The lines of self-defence.

The wounded forms appear:
the loss, the full extent;
and simple kindness here,
the solitude of strength.

You walk into my room.
You sit there at my desk,
Begin your letter to
The one who's coming next.
Rate this poem:(5.00 / 2 votes)
 

Submitted by Robert_Haigh on June 11, 2020

26 Views

Leonard Cohen

Leonard Norman Cohen was a highly gifted and varied writer — novelist, playright, songwriter and poet. He was already quite famous as a poet before embarking on a music career as a singer-songwriter. He is generally considered to be one of the greatest songwriters of all time, and his songs have been recorded by countless other performers. Born in Montreal, Canada, in 1934, Cohen had a long and productive career. He was working right up to his death, in 2016 at the age of 82. more…

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"The Letters" Poetry.net. STANDS4 LLC, 2020. Web. 3 Aug. 2020. <https://www.poetry.net/poem/53648/the-letters>.

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