John Yaws Poems

We built on a solid foundation of lies-
And then it all crumbled, much to our surprise.
I know that I loved you, no doubt you loved me-
But the dreams we were building just never could be.
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I guess the most effective-
Of writers, great are small.
Is the one who is objective..
Like a "fly upon the wall".
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When the rose of romance withers,
And the heart is sere and dry-
And you gaze upon the wreckage-
Of your life and wonder why…
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Every drop of ink I use-
Is like a drop of blood…
A bit of essence of myself-
A seeming, endless flood.
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I find as I grow older-
I often contemplate-
My foolish past decisions,
My days of tempting fate.
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I thought I wanted to Fortune-
Then I thought I wanted fame,
For everyone to know me-
My accomplishments proclaim.
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It is the time of year, I guess-
When folks start thinking back.
Evaluating lives they've lived,
A way of keeping track.
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There's a phase of my life, that is now gone forever.
As I reminisce, I find that it's strange…
That memories of hardship and long hours labor-
No longer intrude on my home on the range.
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When a man looks back upon his youth-
And he's feeling reminiscent,
He tends to see unvarnished truth-
Not call life what it isn't.
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The wretched poet sits and sighs-
And feels onset of his demise,
The words won't come, the thoughts are gone
What can he do but sit and moan?
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