Posted by: Ron DuBour | August 31, 2019

ROOTS~by Joseph Gnatek




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They say a poet becomes the tree.
Read each of my branches
you’ll find the poem
that shares a part of me.

I don’t believe
–in magic dust,
–that I’ll ever see with all my lust,

nor do I wonder why or ever trust,
I’ll enjoy my fame like my bark’s crust.

I see in true a lonely tree
of missing roots . . .
and hardly free.

I would gladly shed my famous leaves
and throw away
–all my imparted skills
–gifts of God’s vast bequeaths
to find love’s soil my roots could till.

And to be made aware a true love can cast,
in my fine-branched life a much higher mast.

A place where a sap like me can last . . .
and grounded me obtain a gloried past.

A past that when I die can sigh,
and revel in true love and cry.

All I really want to yet enjoy and do,
is all I’ve lost in being coy and fool;
to finally achieve for ol’ bard Joe,
a love called mine for when I go.

One last breath to soon be missed,
dieing one last death . . .
and being kissed.

Copyright 8/31/2019 JOSEPH GNATEK

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