Gypsy Boy Varey


Repentence


After midnight and I can’t sleep
Thoughts ploughing furrows much too deep
Tossing and turning in the bed
With thoughts charging through my head

The early hours past late night
Pen is demanding that I write
Not sure what can’t find the words
No more rhymes about little birds

Strange to think a man like me
Has discovered a poetic therapy
Strange to think a pad and pen
Can make a man feel born again

Just put the pen down on the pad
Then soon enough: don’t feel so bad
Pen keeps moving and I feel good
Curb my thoughts of death and blood

It’s true to say I’ve plenty time
To think about composing rhyme
But it’s more than that with me you see
It’s something deep inside of me

When the words go down upon the page
It curbs my anger curbs my rage
It curbs my anguish and my hate
Gives me the platform to think straight

And obviously I’m no Shakespeare
But poems and verse allay my fear
Quite honestly, I find it soothing
Comforting and amusing

Kipling’s words can make me shiver
Byron’s words flow like a river
Poetic words can make me ache
Jerusalem, by William Blake

It’s my ambition to compose
A poem to match the Red Red Rose
But then again I think I could
Settle for one that’s half as good

I’m not too bad at writing rhyme
For a Gypsy boy left school at nine
Everything I know I’ve taught myself
By reading books from every shelf

Don’t judge a man by what he’s earned
Judge a man by his lessons learned
Ignorance is bliss some do say
But ignorance is not my way

Ignore these words, you can’t afford
The pen is mightier than the sword


(c) varey 2013

Submitted: Tuesday, August 27, 2013
Edited: Tuesday, August 27, 2013

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