Roads,
the vast confused winding,
lone walkers searching
for something they can’t find.
Some go on to the end,
their end,
but the road
has no end.
The man in front of me
must know something?
Is it like
accepting something
against his will?
No exclamation of annoyance
is heard by the silent seeker,
roaring echoes of thunder
stir his mind to a past,
turned away from.
The mind that was once
housed by the skin
of a smooth forehead
now wrinkled
by the dust of travel.
Men and women on roads,
seconds tick away
into the chaos of tyrant time.
Does a divine smile
linger over the setting sun,
or do the birds
that still fly over Roots Hall
mock at the futility of it all?
Chris, thanks again.
I have a thought: have you considered writing lines with rhythm and rhyme? It is technically much harder of course, but if you can do it well, it leaves a lasting impression to my mind. Here’s an idea to get you started . . .
The Lady and the Tramp
“The lane that looked amazing
Has turned out completely fazing
Now I’m on it.
The fact that it was tarmacced
Seemed so good, until a car whacked
Off my bonnet.
I was searching in the gutter
When up comes this old nutter
like a comet.. . .”
I don’t think this would qualify for any prizes, mind you! I’m sure you could do much better.
Very good David! Not only a brilliant musician then?
Chris
A very profound poem Chris and if you just wrote with rhythm and rhyme I think it would not be from you.
Richard