| |
To pour my soul out at her feet,
I try to write this villanelle.
EUGENE O’NEILL
Some sadness finds a form in those content,
For, while I know I now live my best days,
A whisper warns my greatest days are spent.
How can we guess the secrets which were meant
For those who, though they frown on former ways,
See sadness finds a form in those content?
I have what is expected: Love and Rent,
Enough. Despite the pillowed paths fate lays,
A whisper warns my greatest days are spent.
Less sense, perhaps more stubborn senses lent,
And I should be a song, not quaint old phrase –
For sadness finds a form in those content.
I could have pierced patterns, boundaries bent;
Seen more eyes shut beneath mine, part, then blaze.
But a whisper warns my greatest days are spent.
Take ease for tears, pride for lusts I vent;
I crave extremes, life’s cut and not its graze!
For sadness finds a form in those content,
And a whisper warns my greatest days are spent.
Samuel Reed
|
|
User Rating: |
|
--
/10
(0 votes) |
|
|
|
E-mail this poem to e friend