First, he opened the door,
The door of his deflowered ear.
Yea, he wants to be sure,
Sure of the languorous fairs.
Locked suit, dready boots, moistured knicker,
Grey sock, plastered brows and holy snickers.
Set for the journey,
Listening competition, listening/idea hunting.
He has no idea,
No idea of success; for all life cares.
No one to accompany him,
None! ; heir, hermit, priest nor cherubims.
Myopic in the journey, he fell into a laterine.
Note: Still listening!
You can't, in this life, hear all,
Assimilate little and go, else you fall.
c.2017
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Thank you! .................