A thought converts to words
Easily?
I must beg
To differ, I must.
A poor man will content himself
With a cloak of simple things
Dreams and hopes of grandeur
Are far and fly on wings.
What can I see as I attempt to spill these thoughts?
Grasping at the impossible
My hand poised on the clear, crisp page
Pen hovering, nervous of denting this miracle.
Why? How? What have I convinced myself of?
I have uttered cruel words under bated breath
Yet still I hold my tongue
To one my story changes
Never seen alone.
If sensibility is valued in proper folk
Can we say where the value lies
In common men also?
Have we lost all ties?
Unable to form an opinion
Of our own, minds
Closed, not great
I’ll leave, leave you to rot.
Forget the gentle spring time
‘Twill comfort you no more
Forsake your father’s language
Wander, shore to shore.
Darkness clouds my judgement
Tiptoe here and there
Your eyes, lonely flowers
At a summer fair.
Believe me
An old man’s plea
In his waning years.
The shadows have abandoned the horizon
A new day can rightly shine
A pool glistens in the half-light
I came and conquered mine.
A voice to bury the sun
Rings out strong, bright and true
Beautiful in autumn’s glade
Shine on the golden hue.
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