You want find
To live without
Contrariety,
To harmonize
Peace of mind,
Conversely
To fashion wise
Congruity,
Thus so align
With acuity,
Each day defines
Depict life whole ,
The while binds
Provide sanity,
Till fades alas,
This precious time,
Seeks find embrace
That peace of mind!
There’s a place
In a women’s mind,
Has visual acuity
Which envisions,
The innate grace
Of another’s face,
Neath the surface
Of a ravaged hide,
Discerns axiom’s bide…
‘Tis said her insight
Detects beyond
The fated decline,
As seen thru her eyes
Points to hindsight
That enables obscure,
The scaring havoc
Of life journey’s tour,
Save lives within
Speaks clear of time
Marred by chagrin,
Finds actuate her acuity!
There’s a place
In a women’s mind,
Bides visual acuity
Which envisages,
The innate grace
Of another’s face,
Neath the surface
Of a ravaged hide,
A setting for senescence…
It’s said her acuteness
Detects outside,
The blurry measure
Of fated declivity,
Glimpsed thru eyes
Capable of obscuring,
The scaring havocs
Of life’s journey,
Save what lives within
Speaks beyond time
Marred by chagrin,
Actuates her visual acuity!
Be a psyche state,
That lingers not
Past soul can take,
Wanting naught
Of feelings
Nor of thought,
One can but tell
Man finds create
Be a world in hell…
If suffered reach
This insipid wade,
You’d soon perceive
You quickly fade,
The while you waste
In psyche space,
Man fashioned
Be a barren place!
Of rare occasion
Be such present
As friendship,
Held to bestow
Upon ones life,
Where so decides,
Incarnate state
Best be ascribed,
Thus years ago
Held many more,
Serendipity alas
Upon me did bestow
That special gift!
There’s a place
In their minds
Said acuity,
To see man’s face
Holds innate beauty
Tho ravaged by time,
While one envisions
Viewing that state
Of craggiest cavities
May offer profundity,
One but surmises
That visage now mine
Laced of life’s crossings,
Somewhat serpentine
Be far from engrossing,
Tho eyes chose enhance
With compassion defined,
By a kind woman’s mind!
I see the face,
A crowded place
That tells of life,
Would indicate
A past so filled,
Yet but depicts
A slightest trace
Of puerile days,
To hoary layers
Of crinkly grace,
Time so risks take
What’s left to hold
That offers hope
For man so bold,
To skirt a while
His resting place,
And he not find
The face he’d known
Now buried neath
A senescent waste!
Poetry on a Canapé 