How two
pass to three
and add one more.
To pass minutes to
hour in the
most usual way.
Here I stand, wonder
of how to settle a petulant,
irascible heart.
Who has been given all
that the min could
ever want:
tall frame
long mind
whose figure drew divine
who carried the card for
the white and blye
with musical taste that
dare not offend mine own.
And yet,
petulant heart,
no flame to
inspire nor tame.
What nonsense.
Let’s meet in the underground
whose grass is smooth
as the blue velvet
above. Loose time
which challenges once-
known thought.
Challenge me with
greyed hair son
and in return in
the velvet bower
you may your
grey ears listen and
learn in return.
Oh and how the sorrow
grows and mould
leaving lovers forlorn.
But how others forsake
and pass, how you and I
know and let our mould
in bower grow and known
the beauty
of haunting scars.
A moth in flight
am I to Éire’s flame.
No one ever thinks
sadly for the poor
ol’ flies.
No beloved have I!
And as of late, I can’t
think of a reason why
to sacrifice heart,
body, and life
for another of
my kind.
No beloved have I,
no break of heart
caused by bereaved
strife.
A spinster’s life
at twenty-five.
Well who’s to
mind my unpartnered
side?
Not me, not et
only when the blue
moon rises do
battle of wills
versus
expectations
arise.
But made-up mind
while I make my bed.
Another day resolved
another day solely
mine.
On the Road to Reason 