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Missing
It was a mild and calm Autumn night,
I was wondering of a not too distant friend,
I had seen them recently in a state of fright,
Where the means had already met the end.
But what means I have to tell alas,
Has no merit in my fall from grace,
From the books and hard work for my lass,
But heed I have no need of less face.
It is perhaps the nuance of modern life,
And the moods and discourse found held,
In this knotty mess that we-I meld,
In hope to be less naughty and more nice.
But a lass is somewhere while I still wonder,
As my plus calls for another voracious blunder.
Yes it the communication medium I call,
To rescue you, I, us, no-one should care,
Except for the jealous heart and the ugly bull,
Of what you and i have shared and still share.
But I remebere the lots of pistoon we lack,
In the verage of truth and cleverness missed,
And the casualness of another drink to back,
The mission of misbegotten ways risked.
But I still wonder of this lass too distant,
And too far away from my heart in my mind,
That calls for it in reality to again remind
To hopefully recreate the possibly miscreant.
That is the falls the smells and poison,
With each other to watch and have our eyes on.
(c) R.H.Elliott 2004
If I had an infant sibling and got word of your new posting I think I would have dropped them like a hot potato just to come and read (a little exaggerated but you get my point.) This is sad, but so cleverly structured… the first thing I noticed was the rhyming scheme, I love it.
The thing with this one is that it’s true and heartbreaking at the same time. The last line brought on a memory, but the truly fascinating thing about it is that it could (and perhaps will be) interpreted in numerous ways. One of the key things about poetry is that it allows authors to hide behind metaphors. However, if the reader is clued in enough they’ll know that no hiding is occurring.
Once again, you leave me inspired…