Shalom Freedman Poems

The poem of the morning
Is the unending joy of music
The life that only it gives
The happiness without question
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Maybe the time has come
To just want to live
To forget about the writing and the name and the recognition and thegreatness
To write not for publication and not for posting
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It does not matter
I know will never be someone
In the world of literature
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A POEM IS A METAPHOR/ ISN’T IT?

A poem is a metaphor
Isn’t it?
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I GO ON AND ON

I go on and on
And I will go on and on
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A POEM WAITS IN ME

A poem waits in me
I feel it
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Like the galaxies
The world is moving away from me
I struggle to retain my place
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I live in the little world of my own small happiness
It is a fragile world
And when I am broken it will be done
I know this has to happen
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It doesn't matter much anymore
Nothing I do seems to matter much anymore
Old age and uselessness seem to go together
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Nothing tells me how to begin again
Or even how to try
I am too old now
And how can I expect to do at the age of seventy- five?
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