FB ( / )

More Of What Remains

Viewed as a glass half empty, not as a well half full
It is a small disturbance to the mind
To manage all these desert hours, with consideration
Of inheritance and legacy. And I’ll perhaps be glad
When later there’s no time - for none of this

Thus stalled, I’m forced to gather poems together,
The fragments into handfuls, adding shards and hues
Most tenuous and temporary, like the pebbles
That are gifted in a velvet pouch at a mystic wedding
And spill out in shocked disorder, lost years later

Insisting by this duty that something remains, despite all that is known
Of flesh is grass and solid melts to air –
That someone passing comes to rest, to take the edge from thirst
While charting a direction in the dry savannah plain,
At these thorn-bush lined, pole-buttressed wells.

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Comments (2)

Great poem I believe at this waves in our life too and also that sometimes we have to end something to start something new and always after tears is smile which comes and always we are going farther through this life knowing more and more from the love pain and joy
A great piece Frank, in which you seem to be suggesting that there are times for optimism and times for defeat; that nothing is static. Our outlooks change as our experience change. You do this with such beautiful imagery. I am becoming a real fan of your work, as it throw up new experiences in which the reader travel to from their own world.