Thompson Emate Poet Rhyme

Still Not Tossed Out

It isn’t yielding much result,
I’m still living below the bread line,
I don’t get a full night's sleep,
I still haven’t gotten the desired reap.

I come home after a hectic day,
Behind a closed door is a gloomy ray,
My kitchen gives me a cold comfort,
Nothing there commiserates my labour. 

Not a star I see in you my father says,
I worry when I think about you,
I want to shut the door to my muse,
Believing it’s not a worthy fuse.

I pour myself into my art,
Amidst my turbulent part,
My father doesn’t see a serious son,
He sees the least of his children.

I almost tossed it out,
But for the joy it still brings,
But for its swift wings,
It’s a river that flows to me.

At night I still see the sky’s yellow eye,
I think it isn’t a lie,
The man outside may not be the one my father wants,
The one inside buoys the one on the outside who is on the path to a blooming meadow.


October 17, 2024.

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