Last Words (+2)

Kurt Philip Behm

Writing the final chapter…

the bells in the tower ring for me

Once for each phrase unwritten

twice for each grievance atoned

 

—as—

 

“Schoolchildren rise

pulling back the covers on the flowering meadow

Singing my words

blessing the fields as they run

 

“Memory half gone

released into the cradle of times rebirth

Taking what I gave

and leaving what I could not forgive

 

“The reasons, the seasons

melding together, flashing lost images

Redeeming their promise

christening new moments forever endowed

 

“Yesterday and tomorrow

I am free of their deception

My last words to stay hidden

—in the laughter of a child”

 

(The New Room: June, 2022)

 

 

Bird In Hand

 

Money for today

but not for tomorrow

Bees in the bonnet

cows in the barn

 

Poverty lessens

the weight of ambition

Our wishes and dreams

back burner to warm

 

Love for today

but not for tomorrow

Feelings with shelf lives

 spoiled by date

 

The moment usurps

each hour an orphan

Whose bird in the hand

—neither early nor late

 

(Dreamsleep: June, 2022)

 

 

Heat Rises

 

Answer with Poetry…

tempted by Prose

Passions arousing,

feelings exposed

 

Silence your dialog,

 parry in verse

Now more than ever

—quenching your thirst

 

(Dreamsleep: June, 2022)

  • Author: Kurt Philip Behm (Offline Offline)
  • Published: June 14th, 2022 10:40
  • Category: Unclassified
  • Views: 13
  • Users favorite of this poem: L. B. Mek
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Comments +

Comments3

  • RL Randall

    Poverty lessen the weight of ambition: How very true these words are!

  • Kurt Philip Behm

    Thanks RL.

  • L. B. Mek

    'Poverty lessens
    the weight of ambition'..
    (symbolism, as modernity's isms
    clicks as prayers
    ticks and hashtags for belonging's
    cues
    salvaging our mercy from scripted
    fallacy's, in reality documentaries..
    mTV's cribs as our dreams
    a dollar for noodles and a can, yet
    San Fran
    averaging two overdoses a day
    while
    new millionaires are minted
    every seven minutes, and
    our Youth
    leaving their dreams and living as inSta Idol's
    hallucinating of the ease, in 49ers
    goldrush trappings
    clueless, rest
    of us
    try and resuscitate, volition
    within
    miscounted votes, assertion
    waving flags, that
    could never tippex, away
    their crimson, stains
    in-to
    a forgotten, past
    free
    of regret's, consequences
    penny
    for your thoughts
    at gun-point, we ask
    while
    raping you, of your worth
    with our eyes;
    Parrot's in-hand
    these last words
    of trending, lament
    we surrender
    as your future, cyclicality
    in inheritance as remnant's
    synchronicity, for choosing
    to believe in humanity's
    credentials
    to govern a planet, it's already
    looted
    of mineral and materialistic
    worth...
    and on
    as one
    we
    swim
    regressing
    to our tadpoles
    of demise
    hoping, we too
    will be SuperHero, resurrected
    like Lazarus, only
    we ask
    could we get, a few more
    days
    rest,
    first
    thanks in advance, and
    all the best)



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