There is the question of life and I
Questioned it again on my way to
The next town, somewhere in between
This place and wherever this road
Takes me, and I drew a bird once with
Only one wing and it flew in circles on
My page, around and around and finally
Gave up and sat just lead and lines
And now I follow these lines, this gray road
To another place where I will find yet
Another metaphor for life, it is a compass
Without a north, it is a lie without
A point, it is a grit toothed smile
It is a sunset without a moon, it is one
Step after one step, left than right, than
Circle and circle and slowly, slowly fade
gray-coated morning, afternoon. this runs so smooooooth, Ben. like, put it to music - & it erupts to life. care, sjg
Poetry IS a bird with one wing! I guess the way forward is to make it happy enough to sing if it can't fly free. I hear you singing here - you're flying!
I like the gray mood of this one. No bird is free even from the prison of the sky. Very touching, Ben. Take care. Warm regards, Sandra
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Somber. Horizon bending haze of dusty life drifting off every word. I could only wish I was standing on a dirt road squinting into the sunset reading these lines, slapping my hat against my thigh in time to the countdown of my own heart. Bravo.