Cowardice, and the constant assault on the soul,
Leaves us little choice but to depart to our various retreats,
The Sun, sin and other men poke sabres and laugh,
They turn the key that locks the soul away.
They join together and roll a stone in place at the entrance.
Inscribing some tasteless soliloquy that shames the dead.
But look deep into the pool, beyond the surface,
A fine mutiny is about; the eternal tolerance produces nothing.
But there is a quiet protest, an inquiry that survives,
There is a part of man that muses with reason,
That sad old man that sees the stone roll and feels not,
It is the bowed head and the knowing smile,
It is the short timid moment when we become aware of eternity,
Applaud this precious play, this nurtured innocence, this mutiny.
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Author:
David Wakeling (
Offline) - Published: February 13th, 2025 01:47
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 19
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, Poetic Licence
Offline)
Comments5
Fine words David, we each have our own place to retreat from the awful way others try to put us.
Andy
Yes indeed exactly. Thanks for your insight mi amigo
Somehow in the back k of my mind I can here old Bligh yelling, “Mr. Christian!” But here we are with a “quiet protest…” we shall see how this works out does History’s bumpy road! 🙏🏻🕊
Interesting inyterpretation. I hadn't seen from that angle but you are right.Thanks for your perspective
You’re welcome 🙏🏻🕊
A beautiful soliloquy which is one of my favorite but seldom used forms of poetry. Solemn in nature it pleads for consideration. Very nice and a fave
Thank you mi amigo.Your comments are always welcome
One day from all our retreats there could well be a mutiny, as the world continues on the down wood spiral, Loved the read and Fav.
Thank you so much for your insight
You are very welcome
Excellent write David
Thank you so much
You're welcome
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