That clod, that lunk, that blue-pill taker, still
dreams of coming home to see a red car
backed against the wall, figure by the door
he wants to fall upon, cry with, bind within
arms firmly grasped around, to out-rigor
all dark, all folly, all time, loop pinched-out,
because love conquers all and he has love,
because love is for life and not for ghosts.
I love that clod because he loves. He's me.
But let his love bloom in futurity.
The dark now is the step; by way of nought
from hidden seed and time the flower ‘s brought.
Cast off the fool you suffer-from, not suffer;
she wrote you off, but yet you are no duffer.
YOU ARE READING
Gifts and Shards Vol 2
PoetryThis is the second and final volume of 'Gifts and Shards'. This takes us from the second month to now well over three years later, though there were many C poems in the collections tracking the seasons. There are no similar stories!
