The world shrugs - see ya -
and throws the sun down the slope
so surely I can't
complain about twilight
though I soon must light the lamp.
What is with the world
is what I now muse
as if the world might reason
with me in the dark.
I snuffle around
like a wild dog might, refuse
to settle - not now.
May 27, 2013 7:29 PM
I just wish I could isolate or identify what passes through me when I read that poem. A sense of quiet pondering? Calm overlaying something deeper? It certainly generates a sense of formless energy - if that makes any sense.
ReplyDeleteQuiet pondering
Deletecould be the thing I try thus
if only I could
shut me the hell up.
I stand in tall grassy light
at the end of my
energy, trying
to make sense or at least smile
as the sun goes down.