poetry

chOOsing not to

ChOOsing not to

sing out loud, or sing at all,

is a choice we make, can take,

and may pro-

ceed to nurture; tend; grow

where we can, and water without or

within.

And all that was needed

was a

better under-

standing of my own self

and being: that foolish desire to

sire a man who might lead through

a kindness or two; an empathy

felt for another soul out there.

But that isn’t easy; maybe isn’t right.

To take a de-

cision which breaks with the past

is hard work indeed for the kindly.

 

Or maybe the story was quite

another thing: maybe they’d typed me

as an unkindly man: maybe their

number-crunching crunched h-

orrible numbers: maybe the

truth is I needed to be crushed under-

foot of heavy clay and other

boots of concrete

nature.

Maybe it’s just fair I should end

up chOOsing nothing more than a

corner of keyboard and chair.

If respectful I remain, what train of

thought could I follow ever which might

leave me without the reason or rhyme

to wallow a tad self-indulgently in

queer questions and

queries

of curious about-

turns, and seagulls that flap noisily on

waters darker than stern

remonstrations?

None, I imagine.

None, I am sure.

Nose clean.

Democracy disengaged.

Forgetfulness reigns.

Forgettable, our fate.

 

And it’s not too late to re-

verse the clock of time but it is

too late for

this verse at least.

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