Here we are at zero, begging up the rear,
let me be your text babe, fill my screen with cheer,
hammer down upon me, like a guiding rod,
lead me where wind walks, slowly, with its god.
Point in my direction, mean each crooked call,
lace me with tomorrow, etched upon a wall,
teach me you’re the real thing, gassing up the moon,
smile through an existence, coming to you soon.
Cloud me out on skyways; lift my head to seas,
truth upon your eyelids, fluttering the breeze,
gamble me a winner, claim is stake or lose,
could I be a distance, from your walking shoes.
Write you in with tippex, slipping blindly on,
marginally edgy, marking what was wrong,
crossed upon each sentence, kiss the red bouquet,
never know the outcome, hidden well away.
Tightropes set to balance, books and what you like,
juggle for amusement, unicycle bike,
join the lions roaring, fire beside the hearth,
are you ever really, someone on my path.
Jerry Pike
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem