Plain

The drama was evaporation after outpour rain
And wasted tears were simply irrigation of the plain
For life is circle and the rhythm never skips a beat
I scatter seeds and wonder what will sprout beneath my feet
Won’t let tomorrow simply be a lot more of the same
I know it’s not your fault I just want someone I can blame
For I must tend my garden well if anything’s to show
And after all the void is just some space for things to grow
I’ll get back up I’m dusting off my working man’s attire
The ashes are still smouldering it’s time to build a fire
A phoenix cannot rise until the flame is burning bright
And with the sun I’ll be reborn and fly out from the night
And I will weather all I must for that is all I know
And in my golden garden I will reap all that I sow

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Author: thepoetautist

A Gay poet of fifty odd years who is currently living in Cambodia.

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