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
No comments:
Post a Comment