Posted by: Ron DuBour | January 11, 2019

The Poet~by Michael Gerard Collins


 

 

The Poet

If there can be found a way to start again
please may it so be revealed to me:
for I would surely wish to make amends-
certain grief, I really cannot just let be.

I have a road map, sign-posted very clear
that keeps appearing over and again in dreams.
When I awake I see my every fear…
and I know… I am not the person that I seem.

Words have I read, enough to shake the soul;
heard poets sing of endless pain and doubt.
Consoled by such gifts the days grow long and old…
There are some thoughts that I- in truth- can live without.

Should I find you near, or- more likely- far away
I would bring fine, precious gifts right to your door.
For beliefs, once binding, now do not hold sway-
I would be rich in spirit though this world believe me poor.

To allow an embrace… to let fond feelings show…
is not always as easy as it may sound.
Sometimes that which lingers in the psyche deep below
makes a prisoner of the love that- rightly- there abounds.

Now a calm- wondrous- is descending… which I am admitting to
in this so-very-much-devoid-of-spirit age.
It captures and it guides me, walks me unerringly through
the mire… Past the mindsets where those of low degree

… keep their rage…

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