Saturday, November 22, 2014

But, In a poem





Soon you would be nothing at all to me
Forgot; thus I save you in poetry

Yesterday’s sun spilled in rivers of gold
Today the sky weeps metallic tears; cold

All that we hold is a bold, calloused wink
Save for a poem sealing whispers in ink

Then, in the sorrow of morrow’s today
Nothing can steal it forever away

Morning is eager to drink noon, then night
Time; a voracious tick-tock appetite

We cater to its appointments of air
Poetry pens its triumph and despair

For too soon all would be nothing at all
Lost to the ages where new pages fall

But, in a poem we traverse once more
Back to the faces and places of yore

Moment, be kind while the mind tries to find
and frame the right pieces we soon leave behind

© Janet Martin

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