crooked trails
endless highways
trod these weary feet
most often alone --
along the way
lovers known
always thanked
in dreams
harmonicas play
blues tunes unrepentant
born in dark foggy hollows
harmonizing whippoorwill's
lament
forgetting to remember
to forget
moments unnecessary
besetting surreptitious evils
shuddering soul shunts its
way -- scurrying aloft
no taunts left to hear
cast carelessly
from constricted voice
of dying hate --
departs at last -- and
about precious time --
taking its unwished
for ambiance to
voids unknown
where finally it
devours itself
in uttermost
famine
in its wake dawn spreads
wondrous wings
as if for first time
unshadowed after all
glow glimmering
crooked trails --
endless highways
finally run straight --
straight
to nirvana's
gate.
vcp
13 November 2010
Comments
Gateway...
Oh, but the road of truth is straight from the heart. You show hope that we can all rid ourselves of hate. Would that everyone would take it to the logical conclusion. Nice work! ~ Geezer
Victor
As you can see from the date of this one where our poets forget to answer a comment the poem becomes history in the un-discovered place of darkness.
I have over the years cleared out the undiscovered poems, but now we find that poems with only one comment return to that place.
I agree with Geezer that this is a good piece but we need more comments to make things great, Yours Ian.T