Posted by: Ron DuBour | May 7, 2018

Woman from Laricheard~by Andrew Neil Carpenter



2018.027: Woman from Laricheard

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She spoke to me like I was a breath on the wind
An ephemeral makepiece, a furnit of irrelevance
Yet so was I swayed by what she did
Her value overwhelmed me, and I was drowned
Though her liquid gold was a suffocant, the glory of the knife
Pierced my soul as much as it did my eye
And barely did I notice, blinded by
What I’d perceived as her generosity
And who was I to say that I was not?
I’d never imagined these complications
Even though, in envisaging, I’d always dreamed them to be.
So who was I to besmirch them,
Or think in black and white?
Had I ignored the colour? Where had all the decades gone?
Their flags had been waved, and their intercessions felt,
So who was I to deny reality, the inevitability mustered?
What kind of man was I?
What kind of man was I?
That’s the kind of man I was.

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