Tatters of Life...

Mute melody of seasons sweeps

In phantom lays from unplumbed deeps

As over snow-bound woodland flows

The cello-notes of yester’s rose

The dark is like a lid that lifts

And spills a myriad of gifts

Where nature weaves a wonder-world

Of buds and leaves and trees unfurled

Is Time a mime with velvet shoes

That tiptoes through stone-tongued adieus

Where one hand gives the other takes

While one hand heals the other breaks

Sometimes it feels like Time’s embrace

Leave claw marks on my upturned face

But when I look all that I see

Is a stranger staring back at me

The mind is like a matador

It needs to fend off bullish roar

It needs to dare to talk with ink

That rocks the reader; makes them think

Ho-ho, the bold young poet scales

Mountains still scored with starry trails

Where life has not kicked him too hard

Or left him licked and battle-scarred

…and they are still spared the regret

Of paths they have not taken yet

Where they are still too green to hear

The wake of leaf-song in their ears

As over snowbound woodland flows

The cello-notes of yester’s rose

And all around the poet’s feet

Lie tatters of life, bittersweet

© Janet Martin