(20 minute poetry)


Tomorrow
when and if it comes.

I am of late
disposed
to
compose.

Whether it's me
in poetry or
poetry in me
each line I loose
sets free
one more

and late is not
a state
for which I'm known.

Once
when my wings had grown
shown how to fly
I flew,
then forgetful of the night
and naked flame,
circling the storm below
I dared to go
into that fretful light

such are
the might have beens
of emperors and
queens.

Blistered and the worse for wear
I'm still torn between the
devils,
but the deep I know and
share with careworn
philosophers.

It is as always this way
this day
that may be true
once
I flew
I won't forget.

These castles
where we keep
our memories
are few,
true
but
possessions though they
may be
we disinter and
set them free
a bit like poetry
really.