' One Message To The Envious One

You say my writings bore you,
yet what have you written
beside comments laced
with bitter and spoil,
displaying your inertia
for literary composition,
grasping the Third-Eyes'
largesse for illusion,
respect for the art,
for the Imagists' canvass.

I be no Poet, nor claim to be;
each work just a smoking mirror
each theme always grazing over
each message lying under the words,
but a rock too heavy for you-
to lift and realize the answers
to your queries about who I am.

So, I see you now, quite clearly,
in your kitchen nook, sipping tea,
the demitasse spoon sounds so sweet
when it kisses the tea-cups' rim,
as if it were chimes from a church,
attempting to grab your attention
that redemption for all you envy-
are perhaps just a pen stroke away.


by Frank James Ryan Jr (FjR)

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