Olatry
Still no Window,
Still no Whiskey.
Still no Mountain,
Still no Glade.
Still no Rustic
Bench or Rickety
Table. No Oil
Lamp, No Hand-
Whittled Pen.
No Daydreams
Wafting 'n Wefting;
Curling Heavenward,
Mingledancing with
Tobacco Scents.
No Time Sense,
Such as with
Such Contemplatives,
Such as with
Surrenderers to
Fate...Much as with
The Untired Retired.
I suffer from
Idylolatry and Idleolatry.
I suffer from
I suffer from
...and yet,
I write.
Copyright © Stephe Watson | Year Posted 2019
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