But a Number
But a Number
You of endangered castes
Wandering days of the past
The sum of your age matters not
For it is a number
Befitting of blunders
A scar stretched out and overwrought
Superiority
Has now escorted thee
Like a self-effacing complex
And this feeling may last
But for a moment’s cast
Respect of mind, not age, infects
Like time when left suspended,
A wound left untended,
What has become of you and me?
The dark beneath the stars
Dodging, deflecting scars
Beyond my fresh skin you can’t see?
Motivational silk
Like a dream seeker’s ilk
Irrational deceiving nears
If aged you are on repeat
And you, far from replete
The spites, on the tip, graze the spear
Condemned I, before words,
But old the soul I’ve heard
Displaced from a forgotten frame
But you think me too brash
Well you can kiss my ash
And smoke on my ignited name.
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I love it! You have great phrasing and the poem flows nicely, Paul. The words you use makes seem ‘Old World’ type style. Love the last stanza especially. Well done.
I love the way this piece flows and your wonderful word usage….I’m not however even going to consider kissing your ash…he he he
Another great piece of poetry from you, Paul. You are a true wordsmith.
Some great wordplay Paul, and particularly loved the last stanza. A powerful rendering, stark and an acutely evocative work. Love it!