You come to believe
Thru serene control,
Had then so achieved
A mind now set bold,
Held made concede
Put memory on hold,
Save too little known
Of significance told,
When recall has flown
To a mindless absent,
Tho spirit may mourn
Fickle fate will consent,
With memory conform
To consequence bent,
Of forgetfulness shorn!
written in Italia, May 3, 2018
© Jean-Jacques Fournier
Life has me walk
This reach alone,
To suffer gauge
My weary bones,
With body’s age
I now but trip,
Upon this road
Lacking the fit,
Youth so defined
Tells be the image
Of ebbing time,
With faint recall
Can now but pine,
For home of old
When we explored,
First living bold
Did create lore,
Worth being told
Sufficient to entreat,
What equates hope
Though incomplete,
We’d learnt to cope
Life’s fickle sweeps…
I walk alone
In faded colours,
Upon this road
Of no return,
Held be my destined keep!
You reach a point
Has you convinced
You’ve done it right,
That you’d persist
Thus without doubt,
Despite held plight
And risk of drought,
Refuses to detract
Obeying ones intuit,
That finds shed light
On wants get it done
With implied insight,
Hence doing it right
In spite of perchance,
Fickle fate chose slight
To state obvious stand,
Bids ne’er a guarantee!
Poetry on a canapé 