What the little things that please
the rippling expanse a tease
to me
shucked in a corner of my own formation
perhaps theres' nothing fans my flame
more than my own self tethered mane.
A lion was from whence I came
and other things are sure in favor
of my lust and loathe for labor.
Epiphanies caught half in webs
in some distant barn my dreaming ebbs.
I let myself down by the burn
and only most chose to return.
I'm sure I'll soon convince one part
to find it in the other's heart
to let the dead child on down stream
we'll meet again as grass is green
My mistake will always be to forget what God has given me
letting it fester on a shelf
in stupid search of made up wealth.
A passion and a tool express
to feel beauty and to show it
though scarce can satisfy a poet.
skip to main |
skip to sidebar
No comments:
Post a Comment