“ Years ” ~ be of laurels’ best ~

 

Years fading many

Three score plus ten,

When some then

Made feel too many,

Years not living

Aversely at rest,

Somewhat uncertain

Of laurels’ best,

Save idle giving

Wanted for naught

Held put to test,

Not waste what’s left

Though at times lax,

Thru forever days

Found in the past

Inspired by youth,

In then agile way

Did call for truth,

Hoped get it right

Before enduring dark,

Bids life its last night!

 

“ Trapped ” ~ inside a feeling ~

 

You run to flee

A feeling held dead,

An angry bent

You so dread,

That of requite

Arguably lent,

Scales so balanced

Thru baseless spite,

Could not amend…

 

Thus trapped

Inside a feeling

Not so dead,

An anxious mind

Wants one’s head,

Hence pell-mell

You scurry hide,

Far from the hell

That calls you back,

Where locked inside,

You’re to face

The hurt you brace,

Till you so reach

Courage to disclose

The matter bleak,

Trapped in a feeling,

That condemned                               

You flee from self,

Till you find hate’s end!

 

“ To Start Again ” ~ in step ~

 

To start again

Now once in step,

Right from the crib,

What we did live,                                                                  

Should risk we cart

Our puerile baggage,

Fixed to the heart

Like tattoo marks

Will trace the scars

Of naive follies,

When careless days

Meant living lies

That eased the way,

To so one day

Give of the spin

Said layers a mind

Of ventures worth

Might grow us wise,

In step this time

Without reprise,

To start again!

 

“ The Wanderer ” ~ on solid ground ~

 

I’d drifted round

Wanting for life

On terra firma,

Tho near full span

I’ve not yet found

To understand,

The held wonders

I failed endorse,

Accepting state

Akin to vegetate,

What life abounds

There to taste,

Instead of waste

All that surrounds,

While I the wanderer          

Has not yet found,

The likely bounds

Offers but solid ground!

 

“ The Wind ” ~ that whispers ~

 

Listen to the wind,

Softly whisper

Its chagrin,

Anxious tales

Harbouring sins

Of men for sale,

Who wile us in,

Won’t hesitate

On but a whim

To devastate,

Hid in the whispers

Of an angry wind…

 

Thus as wind wails

In mock reply,

A sadly echo

Of tortured cry,

Tells be destined

Meant soon to die,

While a final whisper

Be the wind’s good-bye!