Pride
And intellectual conceit
Are damnable things -
A work
Is stopped
'Ere yet its flow's begun
For fear the thoughts
And words required
Will not come -
Therein lies the ruin!
So am I cursed.
However,
Waving now
These lifemates
To the wing
A humbler self
Stays on this page
To sing,
Although it be imperfectly
With notes
Not crystal clear,
Knowing I
Some sound must make
Should I
Wish you to hear!
Follow me to the garden
Where delicate flowers grow
Orchids beyond your description,
Madonnas more pure than new snow.
A warm air
More fragrant than honey
Tempts open the flower
In my head
Which
When it then fully blossoms
A starving bee
It becomes instead.
My mind is a flower,
At times opening for the
Universe to see -
Hoping that its beauty
On some eye will fall -
Will make at least one heart light!
Will not be molested,
Not be cross-pollinated
By some dumb bee -
Will not be crushed
By ignorant
Or not so ignorant
Evil forces -
Will have lived
And died
Not in darkness!
Please be careful
Only that you look or smell -
Look and smell,
But do not touch -
Never touch!
' Why not? ', you ask.
Its petals
Are delicate,
Sensitive and apt to curl
At the slightest hint,
Of the lightest touch -
One glance too heavy
The blossom folds
And rising sepals
Quickly
Seal all!
Is this shy youth,
Or wisdom of old age?
I, your mentor -
You, my sage?
© M. Barrett – all rights reserved
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