Monday, September 23, 2013

(Just a little sad poem for the quixotic few)

~Lessen in Value~

Poetry I wish is what I want to write,
Of life or death or fire in the moonlight, 

But never words of flair I find are there;
I may wind up in a long starry eyed stare.

Love and hate and there at heavens gate, 
Where are those words. I need...too late. 

Poetry I wish is what I want to write, of
Cool springs and greens and human insight.

But for me that word is where I wither. 
And here I sail alone down flounder river.  

As depth is never bound nor darkness sound, 
These words too are bound to never be found. 

When finally played out I am, and placed deep
Into the not leave not even a mound. 
                                                            ~Jack Henry Kraven~

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