A Cracked Bowl
He loved my beauty, not my wandering mind.
In fact ,he preferred me to be near mute
I knitted Mobius strips whilst intertwined.
And listened to his voice as to a flute.
I soon grew tired of hearing his crazed views
I found a man who liked to hear me speak.
Until I mentioned I owned ten green shoes.
Bottles yes,but shoes made me a freak
Then I found a man who never spoke.
He listened with a kind,inviting smile.
I would have liked to test him with a joke.
But feared I might then harm his utter guile
.
Formidable the quest to match one’s soul.
Instead I’ll keep it here in a cracked bowl
Copyright © Katherine Braithwaite | Year Posted 2016
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment