© 2016 Steve King
All rights reserved
One day I’ll greet the word that I require,
to draw all thoughts into the brighter light.
The catechism of my dark intent
shall let its meanings flourish as they might.
Then would I find the lyrics resident
in every shadow where old musings dwell;
for never have they found a true release
to satisfy the moments that I tell.
It seems I measure only fickle things:
the moods, the feelings, or the hope that wanes
beneath the weight of every new regret.
Each passing instant of imagining
bequeaths a corpus of fragile remains,
all shades and ashes I must soon forget.
A new poem for the Poetry Pantry
A new poem for the Poetry Pantry
