Bend and gather the lose and the last
Of my belongings, as they shall,
Pass amid those rising masts
Those drift them afar and swell,
By the broken wind and word,
That stood gaping against the shore,
Treading upon the sands no more.
While my belongings break their customs,
And rise high and low, like dancing sails.
For once in their raising, lay unaccustomed
By their meandering and manners pale.
Pearls and pearls -measured in stooks.
Why their say be a languished truth?
Like bartered conceptions of the youth.
In the gathering the lost is lost,
Founding only in the memory, remains.
Yet I seem to carry the cost
Of the losing and it’s following claims.
They be set for a journey now.
The journey of mine, broken, ceased,
Bend to gather – belongings or peace?
In The Cold of This Here Morning - picture source: https://za.pinterest.com/pin/200691727122515616/ I could take this car and go, speeding recklessly down highways, never stop, to get a...
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