Someone is writing a poem about him
Unbeknownst to his psyche
He skipped one day
Thinking it would be okay
And yet he still trembled
And returned quickly the next
Offering from the light returned
I can’t see walking around
In circles a hindrance
In a sad vacuum at the loss of you
Loud murder kaws overhead
But the beat of rejuvenation is
Heard instead and the barking
Of creatures some days are
Harder than others
Acceptance coiled up
With defeat into an ornately
Knitted spleen
Liberation in extremity
{internal art}
Reflective pools of nothing
Even Narcisse the child of nymphs
Looks away from the mirrored pond
Unrequited unreturned to the self
Not for others what of this!?
Hidden antithesis but a lonely
Strut into the forest of others’
Swampy feelings to be loved
So many someone’s that he forgot
{to love himself}
A workhorse bred
Stallion thread
For hesitation
Ready for the race
Perhaps the dark horse
In him will finally come to
Bare the regal gift of
Love upon himself
Or die in hilarity
Though the daffodils
{look lovely today}
© GÄ
Poétique 