deepundergroundpoetry.com
Postman
The postman called early
precious thoughts to share
open secrets but dare to tell
words that shall be read
much more than once
wisdom, foolishness and truth
the jigsaw that is life.
Look no further than the mirror
its silver back, prevents the view
look behind, are you sure it’s you ?
Is there past or but a dream
prick yourself did you feel the pain?
See the healing scar, the crooked finger
the wrinkle on your brow, creased
long ago with happy childish laughter
sat on mother.s knee proof that memory
not illusion, things did happen
as your mind remembers.
Forget-me-nots in garden vases,
do they remember, how did they come
was it on the feathers of a sparrow
will memory help it return next year?
A book in my lap and thoughts dispersed
six thousand miles and wisdom to read
enter the mind and share the joy
making life the bittersweet
and ours to choose .
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