My life is a spice,
Not spiced but the grain of a spice,
It’s taste on your pallet so faint,
In this world of paint,
For an artist I ain’t.
My life a disguise,
Like a mask or a guise,
Hiding in plane site,
Of what’s wrong and what’s right.
My life like a candle,
With the wick burnt at both ends,
When to be serious, when to pretend.
My life all alone,
Like the dead or a bone,
Or the dark of the night,
Where lingers no light.
Or a tortois so grand,
Buried 12 feet in sand.
Oh life I say so shapeless and void,
Whom bringeth the love, the comfort and joy.
Will it be you sitting alone,
On a dry bed of ocean fed stones,
Or you singing songs,
That deaf ears for have longed.
Nay all the same, she will find,
My open hand heart and mind.
Only will she let me unchaperoned see.
That never was I alone of a kind
But her she did stand beside only me this whole time.
-
Author:
RSM (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: February 26th, 2025 08:34
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 27
- Users favorite of this poem: Cheeky Missy
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Comments2
Dramatic this poem that could be taken as a metaphor as well. Very nicely done.
Thank you for the compliment
Well expressed and layered write i enjoyed reading
Thank you
You are very welcome
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