Too-Meek Man

No grand gestures now. Such things take
More hope than I have. You won't be
Coming back. I look outside to see a fierce
Wind rip at trees, and icy waters overflow
The river's banks, and how I wish that
I could model words which would possess
Such force that you'd be blown, be borne
Downriver, into these arms which you've
Spurned, but I know better. I know who
It's clear that I am doomed to be: a
Too-meek man at a computer, pounding
Out a trail of poems, filled with sundry
Moans and sorrows, not the sort you
Might have sought, a paragon of hope
And boldness, keen to make the gestures
That you won't receive from me.




Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 111 times
Written on 2019-03-15 at 01:44

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josephus The PoetBay support member heart!
Great use of language!
2019-03-15