Symphony

© 2016 Steve King

All rights reserved

I watch at last while others pass me by,

their glad parade my happy respite now:

the songs, the dancing and the wondrous show,

all certain pleasures shining as they go.

I marvel while I watch at the remind

of every feeling that the young may hold,

of worlds unfurling, vast, before their feet,

and all strange puzzles they’d presume to know.

I am not near so wise as once I wished,

nor happy in that way that glosses dreams.

I greet the mornings now as a fair gift,

imparting with each newness all I seem,

or ever was, or ever may become,

no hasty needs to pierce the centered calm,

nor mar those graces morning might bestow.

And when these glad parades have had their play,

and airs are emptied of their new spun song,

there lingers always something in my ear,

the echo of old anthems ringing on,

and fading fanfares of parades at rest,

for every age must hold its own the best.

And though new fanfares rise to satisfy,

each morning grace shall be my symphony.

A new poem for The Poetry Pantry

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Sonnet Four

© 2016 Steve King

All rights reserved

Impossible it seems to find a way

that measures what so subtly resides

within the conscience and the patient heart.

I hoped these written findings would endow

new meaning for the questions sleeping there,

would plumb the riddles in those hidden parts,

the motives that still linger and appease,

that stoke false pride and obfuscate old cares.

I know I’ll never satisfy what’s true

with those tendentious spirits as my guides:

they burnish all illusion and remand

the record that I hoped would since abide. 

That easy road is ever on the rise,

and I must seek a pathway otherwise.

A new poem for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads
http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/