Realizing, Yearning For Lost Youth Had Birthed Poetic Aches
Realizing, Yearning For Lost Youth Had Birthed Poetic Aches
Just past forest green, field of cold and hard stones
there in his youth he oft sat, rejected, sad and alone;
blissful in solitude and mindful of dark world's hurt
poet in deep thought, how best to write and atone.
Creating realms to shatter earth's hardest day
well beyond this world's mass of whirling decay;
in ragged jeans and older brother's torn shirt
searching, searching for life and a better way.
With pen in left hand and an armada of words
scribbling out verses, only to please singing birds;
with heart's pure joy in each word gushing spurt
he deeply scrutinized all his well crafted words.
Years flew by, sanctuary was lost to worldly greed
slowly, ever so slowly he gave way to selfish needs;
his desires, he in prideful arrogance sought to convert
thus raising his own sorrows from lust's thorny seeds.
Racing back, searching for that field lonely dreams
a child again, escaping world's darkest schemes;
found he, truth and joy replaced by life's great hurt
flowing forth in never ending black raging streams.
Then one fine dawn, he remembered that sad, sad place
cold stones that spoke, spoke to him face to face;
regain thy true soul, plant seeds in fresh, fertile dirt
for thy youthful years, no poetic words can replace.
With far greater knowledge, his grief he forsakes
realizing, yearning for youth had birthed poetic aches;
he sat there in new bought jeans and bright shirt
writing new poetic verses, during sweet coffee breaks.
August 2nd, 2017
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For the 'The Poet's Ache' contest - Greg Barden
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