Mr. Davies Was Right

My thoughts on my life in January 2007

Mr. Davies was right:
A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare

But it has been so long
Since I last reveled in Nature’s wonder
And wandered in woodland and over field.

Long since I lay down
And closed my eyes to hear and smell
The lifeforce around me.

And quaffed at its fountain
Of revitalization and tasted its
Sweet invigorating nectar.

But now I sit and stress
About everything and everyone and
Circumstances I find for myself.

I sit and dream, and think
Upon all the things I’ve lost and gained
In my life that is stagnant, yet ever-changing.

I hold my children tight
On times and feel the love flow between us
Unconditional and warm, as only a parent and child knows.

But the love begets worry
Of the self-same parent who knows they should
Be doing more to make the great men within those boys.

My heart’s sweet love is held
As we meld together, bodies and minds
Dreams and fears shared; plans and wishes made.

But bright spots in the fog
Of directionless wisdom and targetless energy
Are they and those moments outside of life.

And so judgements will be made
And the comments shall flow from friend
And from enemy and those in between those poles.

Yet I shall listen deafly
Proudly walking the trail blindly
Silently telling my fears and asking for aid.

My Life’s path I cannot see.
Where have I gone? I know that.
Where am I yet to go? I know not.

My compass has lost its bearings;
My map is torn and illegible;
My guide has deserted me.

My body and mind and spirit
Seem eternally tired and ready
For sleep at a moment’s notice.

So, I am waiting for the muse
And inspiration to hit me like Paul so I too
Can have direction and meaning and purpose in life.

But I know what needs to be done;
What rules laid down and timetables etched
In the fabric of space and time for all to adhere to.

What compass should be used
And the lines and colors of the new map to be followed
And the guides I should be seeking to assist and urge me onwards.

Yet anxious of failure and of success;
Of alienation and familiarity; of all and of nothing.
Of becoming a muse of humanity or yet maybe its dregs.

This piece of creative writing, and more, can be found in the second volume of my collected works, Morning Meeting and other works (In My Words Vol. 1), which is available for purchase only on Amazon Kindle, for just $1.99!

This is an original piece. Please seek permission before reproducing in any way.

About Mark

I'm a forty-something Welsh-American. Other interests outside writing/blogging and very amateur photography include gardening, cooking, and sports, esp. rugby union.

Posted on November 8, 2007, in Poetry, Published, Volume 1 and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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