Poem By Frederick Kesner

Is remorse a prison to the soul
the sole utterance of reproach
that if not to myself be True
the possible best in life accrue
what if regret creeps on the morning
a thief stalking the shadow of dawn
(re) fresh from bare motive drawing
crystal arteries of a day that is new
or shall we allow the mind meander
let it's 'work' find itself crowning
there in its core uncover simplicity
strip away a mournful state of heart


Comments about Restless

I love your work, Frederick. This one holds my current state fixed. Soo good.

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Other poems of KESNER

Convenient Amnesia


My heart bleeds

Kindred Poets


probably a kinsman