My kin bring out the worst in me;
The Drunk, the Sick, the Fool.
A dancing jester suicide.
A sobbing angry tool.
Can have me sober, wordless;
Seething with love unknown.
Reminding myself not to pray
For lands where salt is sown.
Can have me jovial and glad,
For a few hours least,
Before the starving man inside
Insist it's time he feast.
No series of actions,
No eloquent demand,
Conveys the family I can see,
A tribe united stands.
I am a thousand reflections
Where many flowers bud,
Still those twisting roots below
Insist each time on mud.
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Author:
Quemis (
Offline) - Published: February 10th, 2024 05:06
- Comment from author about the poem: ...
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 9
Offline)
Comments2
Beautiful flow
Thank you very much.
I love the image of the flowers and the roots. Thank you for sharing.
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