Looking
For reasons,
Not to suppose,
That by and by
I’ll not dispose,
For me to abide
As I want compose…
Looking
At thoughts,
That questions
The soul,
Shadowed in doubt
Yet passing for whole,
When worth I gave
May have dried out,
Hence less than brave
I’ve agonized about,
A premature bide
In fates grave reside…
Looking
To find serenity,
That shan’t confine,
To narrowed time!
My wants,
More self-indulgent
Than essential
Be dwindling now,
As I compose
To thus appease,
A mind at times
Neglectfully in need…
I’d worried some
Of human habits
I struggle to let go,
This mortal urge
That one so finds
Bent still akin
To Babbitt kind,
The while hardly
Be sufficient time
To nourish soul,
Now meagrely mine…
Hence hasten I
To now replace
All glitters false,
That I may face,
Lest suffer risk
The quietude I seek,
No matter be
This price one paid
Alas to gain serenity!
Poetry on a Canapé 