The bleakest part of strategy is
when you have finally won and
there is no one to reward your effort
so you stare out of the windows of your eyes
and there is a black bird flying at you
carrying a message you had long forgotten
a message grey, bleak, lonely and empty
telling you that further on up the road
lies nothing more than here
so you shoot the bird and throw his feathers to the wind
and eat his flesh toasted
and there is not enough to fill your starving mouth
so your strategy was a waste
and bears you no longevity, bears you no children
and bears you no malice or any other cute emotion.
EPITAPH
there lived a pickled onion in a bottle
said he ~~ 'the view is panoramic
but oh my surroundings are sour'
Geoffrey Fafard.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I quite liked this poem, and it made me laugh at the end with the line about a pickled onion in a bottle. Yes, the hollowness of victory when there is no one to share it with. A poignant reminder. Nice work.
Thank you Briony.Your words of support are wonderful Cheers.Geoffrey.