A Pilgrimage in Poetry

A Pilgrimage in Poetry

It all started on some animals,

And a school assessment on ‘The Drought’;

But as the years began to flow,

I then encountered doubt.
Did I have the rhythm?

Did I have the rhyme?

How could I get into the zone?

And where would I find the time?
But the poem always found me

At a time l least expected;

It found me when I was exultant,

It consoled me when dejected.
At times I wrote of love,

At others I wrote of hate;

Or of the carnal twinge of lust,

Of the dullness or dread of wait.
I wrote of persons parting,

Of time’s great passage on;

Sometimes it spied me in a picture,

Or motioned in the melody of a song.
I mourn the poems I lost,

When moving house or tidying things;

I cannot recollect those words now,

And the pain of loss within still stings.
One time I co-wrote with a friend,

On a drizzly day in highland retreat;

She finished it off later,

And then mailed the draft complete.
Sometimes I cannot finish,

The verses for a piece;

But when I conclude a poem,

I always feel release.
A release of a creation,

While still connected here to me;

It has been gifted to the reader,

And its verses can can roam free.

Simon C.J. Falk 17 November 2015

 

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