I often wonder to myself,
If life is obvious when it's dealt,
With whispers, murmurs and talk under-hand,
That make it seem that stealth be grand.
For what of stories in the guise,
Of mirth and merriment, built on lies,
That exact a measure of pretense,
In my fear or mere defence.
But to look again on a sunny day,
One see's the hearts filled by warming rays,
That lift the spirit and adhere a smile,
To faces before that were quietly trialed.
And perhaps it is such not that life is tried,
Upon the rack of deceit and lies,
But more be found in what was meant,
In the weather and enviroment.
So I'll remember when the warmth does hide,
And rubbish litters and clouds to sky,
That the glow comes again as we pick up,
And upon the wealth of a new day sup.
This is a very nicely written poem, Richard. I like the rhythm and lilt in your writing style. It makes for a very pleasurable read.
Helen
This is a timely piece. Thank you. Sincere/insightful.
And as an exercise perhaps try to see it from the opposite point of view. -- Love. A.R.
... rubbish litters and clouds to sky ... grammar? no wait, you mean the rubbish litters and clouds it up to the sky? examine and see if right phrasing. Perhaps chucks it up to sky would be clearer. Ou, Rich, you seem to have a grasp on more than poetry; so things I'd like to have you expand on, with a little less subtlety maybe in future poems. Say it for the people.
Rich! Your best poem yet. I wouldn't change a word.
Good poetry. Nicely thought out lines keep em coming, Bern