10-11-2024

Painting on the easel, The things we do apparently aren’t right. The taste of bitter sweetness and the smell of diesel, They say my last name sounds mediaeval, Well, Alright. I see the world through the goggles of a pessimist, We might be feeble. The winds whirled and caught my kite, Release my grip and forgo retrieval. What’s mine isn’t mine by right, It’s just how we see it through, I’m talking about life. About my life, The pain we’re free to view as truly painful. Poetry and that feeling to write, Writing truly shouldn’t feel this shameful. A dutiful soldier who finds poetry too graceful, A stoic paladin whose words ride alongside my brother, The Sky. An angelic family tie. My brothers laugh travels on by, A Paladin’s poetry needn’t make you cry.