These last few months have seen quite a few birthday poems. This makes three, so far, and there will most likely be more to come. As much as I enjoy shopping for gifts, I take even greater joy in crafting them. I prefer made gifts, myself, and can only hope that others appreciate them as much as I do. A made gift is a gift for one, and one alone. No purchased gift, however interesting and unique, can mirror that. How can the act of searching ever compare to the act of creating? This is for Tom.
Blessed Burden
With a wandering wind and a transient stride
to travel the concrete crack,
and a hard-shell guitar case, a promise, and pride,
swung loose on your low-bent back,
you will follow the destiny written inside -
a seed of the unseen track -
with words never spoken and notes never played
and love of the solitude sent,
such a singular treasure before you, arrayed,
that life be not lost unspent,
as a million others have mindlessly strayed
so far from the way they went.
This burden is yours, and its blessed attack
will rupture and heal the rent.
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- Cartesian Quies
- Poesis archaica non cum ruboré.
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5 comments:
You said you would wriet something for us hillsboro people...
For your information...Tom doesn't live i hillsboro...
But I liked it, none the less....
sorry about the spelling...haha
Wait your turn, Cora. It'll come...
love it! Tom's thighs.
Yes indeed, in some moments I can say that I jibe consent to with you, but you may be in the light of other options.
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I noticed the catch-phrase you have not used. Or you functioning the dark methods of inspiriting of the resource. I suffer with a week and do necheg
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