In a world
That makes no sense
I feel like a book
I don't understand
Language is foreign
My chapters incoherent
Mixed up
I love my Title
My cover art
Illustrations are grand
But my story
Makes no sense
Is this how my story
Will always seem?
Will I ever learn
How to read your story
If unable to know my own?
Needing to look up my small
Words
To understand your bigger words
Somehow
Someday
I may
Understand
I just hope it won't be
My last words

Suffused through the veiled abstract
Some ride the tail of Satan,
Some shelter in the shadow of God,
Many are diffused in the great indifference of humanity....

But some pluck the jewels of eternity
From the billowing cloud,
To voice substance
And musical inspiration
To the willing, attuned
And receptive ear.

These be the poets in our midst.

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ