A heart with sight must write a poem or two
Or sing the thing it sees.
With a neat beat of the toes
It goes dancing down the street
Behind it lie the critical eyes
That have not seen where it’s been.
They would rather end than mend
Their own broken hearts.
Don’t fight the delight that still lives
The surge that urges you back.
The heart is the part we do not own
The rent sent must be remorse
Regret not guilt but grief.
Years of tears make us happy
The morrow sorrow is joy.
Throw your old gold in the gutter
A new you awaits
The Landlord has something better
Just inside the gates.
No comments:
Post a Comment