“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Showing posts with label worry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label worry. Show all posts
Friday, June 17, 2016
My right, your left
It all worked out,
things, that is,
what are nows
are exactly how they
should have been
we never needed
to worry and plan
all that armament
and added security
all for nought
knowing it would be good
as the old days
back then when it was
too dark to see
ahead or two
eyes do nothing
but distract, in fact
you made it that way
blindly feeling
your way
past
ifs
extrasensory gifts
finding a fit
and working your way
back out.
Image of painting by George Frederic Watts, c. 1886, Hope [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Gravitas
For every poem I put here, there are four more never shared, around six never written and twenty-seven partially thought out. For every word...

-
1. Of my Soul a street is: Preternatural Pic- abian tricktrickclickflidk-er garner of starfish Picasso...
-
Someone said, the full moon looks larger in the city because of skyscrapers- which said nothing about people feeling smaller, more co...
-
Water Today, warm raindrops glass blurs, the blurry glassy, sharp sparkles sugar. Behind Evening, it was good. Leaves all turned into shadow...