Back, And So, Forth Poem by Bill Galvin

Times,
Too soon,
Or so, too late;
Too nuts, too sane,
Out of touch, of signs,
Or too bold, and so lame,
For these roads, and climes;
With no thing, no one to blame;
Tho, the newness of every dawn,
Still urges me forward, drives me on,
With unplanned stoppages in between
For an emptiness, for the hollowed self,
(For down-days displaced, set on a shelf,)
(To long scripts written for a silent scene,)
For some darker recesses, unforeseen;
For the calloused mind having its say,
Only till a bird song trills dawn new;
Till a smile, laugh, "how-are-you",
Sends it packing… on its way;
And a sun seems to make
Another promise now;
Another vow…
To stay.

2016,
6-8