David McLansky

(5/24/1944 / New York City)

Answering A Poetess


What hope has truth to steadily mature
When loves emerges so childishly and green
Made mad by toxins not previously explored
Sown by strangers hands peevishly unclean;
In sun soaked rapture it deceptively perceives
It endures both in hurricane and drought,
Coldly it's captured, by husbandry deceived
It alternates betwixt blind certainty and rout;
What heart knows peace in such a change of seasons
That the eye can gage the fruits of loving labours,
Oh a heart can have little faith in reason
When it's wages are reckoned up so poor;
Oh truth in love is mangled at first sprout,
And bitter tastes the fruit that's ripe with doubt.

Submitted: Tuesday, February 05, 2013
Edited: Tuesday, February 05, 2013

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