Today, 21st March, 2021, is World Poetry Day, so in the spirit of things and as I’ve already dug out some older poems; here’s a little ditty I penned earlier, some time earlier, sometime in the 1970s earlier.
Goodness knows what was going through my head at the time, probably the thought of having to go out into the world and get a job. My career advisor never mentioned anything about writing poetry; probably just as well…
My eye is lost in finite bounds,
and stares like abject poetry.
Round and round and round and round,
yet they clearly said, “Infinite lands”,
and something like “tranquillity”,
but standing here upon this sand,
I can’t believe that I am free.
Perhaps I’m burning, I can’t see,
what’s left is far too cold.
I think I’m being frozen,
but the flames will soon take hold.
The songs are bright with promises,
although some deny the truth,
Is singing just the singers end,
can truth be more than we pretend,
what price the dreams of youth?
Still no word born of a mighty pen,
for long withheld the sword.
No heaven ever designed by men,
escaped the fate of being abhorred.
Poetry, hypocrisy, no action,
only noble words.
and yet we hope to change,
by writing lyrics that may not be heard.
My heart is lost in all this,
What can I do?
the world just tumbles on,
no sooner do I see you, hear you,
I remember, you, are gone.
The songs are lies,
to calm the mind,
to stop the restless fight,
focus in, around, around,
in ever chasing flight.
Lost, my heart is lost in song,
the words beyond all I can be.
Perhaps I’m being frozen,
with all this ice it’s hard to see,
and over there, the flames are waiting,
probably for me.
Be gentle, I was only young…