Nothing Of Value Poem by Terence George Craddock (Spectral Images and Images Of Light)

I hang up antiquated quill,
to fill taskmaster till.
All I know dearly bought,
comes to nullified nought.

No negotiable reward remains,
to sustain, ordained writings wrought.
So fruitless frustrated search,
belies, an inspired image sought.

Is nothing lasting learned,
is nothing timely taught?
Diligent inspired dutiful labour,
but wasted, wash-out thought.

Life stagnates
stupefied on,
nothing of virtuous,
virtuoso, value bought?


Copyright © Terence George Craddock
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