Of Things Missed
So many, the people
With clear, cold command
Of the language
And fully utilized by them
in daily discourse
And yet know little, or not…
Of the texture and design
In the weave of the words,
And Know, or suffer not...
A whit or hint of remorse
Of the richness of
The pleasures inherent
Tho’ obviously to most,
not apparent
In the daily, depths
Of Deep discourse
The wealth of treasure
In daily words
By most is simply, sadly, missed
Yet by the majority not e’en noticed
For most…ignorance is bliss
Copyright © David O'Haolin Whalen | Year Posted 2012
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