Poem Poem by Smoky Hoss

Words hung on paper
Like thoughts in the wind
Some flitter to and fro
But the good ones always seem to blow
Away and away,
Again and again.
Go down to the river of exile
Where the sad ones cry,
Go out to the catacombs
Where the old ones die...
Like a leaf in the fall
It's all such a temporary thing,
So put a little music with it
And hope it'll make someone's soul sing.
Slumbering forth with sadness
A mingled mixture of madness
This sobriquet symphony
Of mellow deep;
Heart felt longings,
Vagabond thoughts,
And lack of sleep -
Every bit of being blends
As awe and imagination together
Never end.
Mighty words in waves
Churn man's deep,
With wild wonders to reap.
Where mystery and majesty are born,
The poetic possibilities of translation
Range from sage to scorn.
In a million ways arriving
Within each new day
The great gift given,
If only wise enough words can be found
To say.
These are the forms and foundations of poem,
Read or written, loved or smitten,
Gathered together, or alone,
If one will only listen to hear
The faint whispers of Eternity speak,
Ever drawing nearer, and nearer...