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!
Why do you write
Asked unabashed,
As tho an answer
Other than need,
May even succeed
In shedding light…
Forces be real
I heard my reply,
Helps touch why
Tho ne’er quite sure
My words truly fly…
What do you write
She offers in spite,
My hazy taunts
Not meant be trite,
I scribble of time
That shadows mine,
To divert attention
If lot whispers of death…
Fate may deny
Time I have left,
So while I’ve breath
And feelings to best,
I’ll write with my soul
Thus wants life bold,
Without reason or why
For as long as I’ll get!
That reach,
To help me find
Amity alter time,
Enough to assign
A brutal world
Grow less unkind…
Words I may find,
Could so discern
Amity of a kind,
Would so touch man
To finally be as one,
Hence to bind a lifetime!
Poetry on a canapé 