A drum beats beneath my feet,
I feel it's thunder pound low.
In the harden clay of defeat,
objections from spirits unknown.
All four quarters surround me,
confused on which way to turn.
In seeking a course of serenity,
not found in white fiery burn.
Time makes no promise of deals,
there's folly in fantasy's grip.
Red flames lick at my heals,
my demise if I falter and trip.
I've burned both ends of this wick,
red flame burns toward the middle.
I'd best do something and quick,
Rome burns while some fools fiddle.
Red flows the blood of my veins,
white fear shows on pallor of lip.
Destiny finds not the heart faint,
necessity finds it's own niche.
~~~Suseann~~
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Comments
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I lvoe the idea of the wick bruning towards the middle, the play on hell hot on the heels and that there might be a niche for us to hole up in..nciely done, susanne.
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BEAUTIFUL!
Most of us do tend to wait too long before we make a choice and then we fear and hesitate even as we do make that choice. It is so hard just give it our all without having second thoughts.
A very beautiful poem.
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What a wonderful poem you've written Suseann. I love the flow and the rhythm, like a slow beating drum. Well done my friend. I hope your Christmas was wonderful.
~Lyrical
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Oh, beautifully done.....that confusion and not knowing which color is most desireable or wounding...
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