Sunday, December 8, 2013


These are the times of insignificance.
Sketches I draw with winsome words fail me.
Bright scenes I paint with agile circumstance
Turn grey and mock like bland years that ail me.
Should I abide in plain indifferent chance?
Or should I set bold hope in destiny?
The world would urge me take the former stance -
Another slave of fear and apathy.
Unseen stories scratch at my grizzled heart;
Virgin verses glare back from curled pages.
Even if I have penned prized works of art
It seems no-one will mount my grand stages.
The cold craving to stop and rest persists
But still my soul’s flaming fervour insists.

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