Beauty The Sight
Beauty, the Sight
by Oskar Hansen
My heart is a block of cement pavement, sadness
my poetry is prose and little more.
I have written collections of poetry but in the end
they are mostly political musings.
Yet, concrete cannot stop nature, through cracks
tiny green grass grows, or you may call it a weed.
Perhaps I have got something written that in the mass
of words there are pearls of poetry.
Once I saw a motorway not yet open for cars,
a caravan of gypsies, with their carts full of children
small horses and dogs, traversing in peace.
I know they will be there when cars are a curiosity
living a life of quiet contentment and they will
take little interest in the disappearance of the white
A race who thought they could have it all,
and that was exquisite poetry, beauty and the random
A kismet of faith, a man trying to be God.