Have I rhymed without reason,
Treating poetry as tawdry linen
not fit to cover beggars loins...
Have I?
Have I used the muse to puzzle:
To bring confusion as in science
That cannot be proven right (but wrong) ...
Have I?
Have I made myself deaf
To the wind's cry, the bird's song,
and coin only of troubled bowels...
Have I?
Have I used poetry for war:
Fingering scabs to make sores
That puss from my bitterness...
Have I?
If I have, please forgive me.
Now I see...The bird in the tree
sings for me... to go on.
I see.
The wind cries to touch me,
To kiss my face, to gain
Warmth from me.
I see.
I see...
Copyright © 2011 Leslie Alexis
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem