This House Of Poems
This house of poems, is my shelter of a kind,
And brave are the walls, of foundations rhyme.
Time is set in its stones.
But, I alone, would roam,
From my sheltered place,
And grab the tempest race
By the tail, and ride the racing tide.
Tides of time, deposit sediments of my rhymes,
Layered over the years,
Carved by a river into a new canyon.
It did flow with living water.
And the world watched my ribbon flow of words.
They did not know what they heard,
Did not know what to do and make of it all.
They thought me a curious find, not of their kind,
And strange in all I was,
To be suspected, rejected,
Tested beyond all tested.
I did my best to pass the test,
But it may just take time
To cure them all. So I crawl
Back to my home of poems,
Where the sun of winter has no friends.
The graveyard told him so.