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 .
Written by Kexby (john rickell)
Published | Edited 24th Jan 2017
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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