Saturday, 18 May 2024

was it all those years ago

 was it all those years ago


a young lad bought himself a book

‘teach yourself poetry’

it taught him nothing other than 

there was a void that had to be filled


the bare blue cardboard cover

smudged with ink (royal blue)

i like to think a missing link

from a poem that thought too much

that it deserved thought 


how a yearning is hollow

traced around by looking

and yet there the fuse was lit 

never burned bright

yet never went out 


sometimes one learns not what is taught 

but the direction of a signpost’s finger

under the stars the moon flares

under the sun it acquiesces 

the leap is faith indeed 



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