Until Our Poetry Sprouts Wings....We persevere.


Until Our Poetry Sprouts Wings, We Persevere.


Winds of time wear,
the smoothness into craggy,
lines and wrinkles,
not only on crumpled
balls of rejected poems,
but also on flesh.

My heart stretch marked
from so many breaks,
and brain synapses,
taking far too many naps.

Father Time is a
deadbeat dad divorced
from our Mothering Nature,
leaving me very
little of value
in my aging childhood.

But my soul is a pearl,
washed by the acids
of this world, and left
tucked deep in the folds
of my being.

It gleams with a brightness,
that extends far beyond
the humble renderings
of my mortal thoughts.

It is ever
looking forward to
the beautiful creations
yet to come,
from my heavenly

When life is
but a post-note,
as poetry takes wings
and eternity is
a massive chapbook
filled with dreams
at long last come true.

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Randy Behavior profile image

Randy Behavior 7 years ago from Near the Ocean

Don't you think that poetry is one of the things that improves as we age though?

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