Unmarked By Their Passing
I tell you there’s no ending, no straightening the straights,
and the twists and turns of life will remain unending.
Where do those paths go, via many trees bowed by breeze,
and thorny bushes with fresh and old blood specks to show.
Some are freeted by time, just lumbering and slumbering,
as stuttering takes them on to old, past their posturing prime.
Bored by sterile occupation, hobby horses caught in gorses,
do their slim passions leave any maps for family and nation?
Unmarked by their passing, this olde world not even curled,
no graves to be seen merely ashes scattered in a brisk wind lashing.
Yet for all the loss seen, the old folk not dipping bread in yolk,
still the atoms they left will remain untouched, to rise in your spleen…
February 25th 2015
Dave D Poet Rhumour
Thu 26th Feb 2015 14:33
Thank you muchly for your very kind comment Rose - glad you like this piece, though I think I will reserve judgement on it's relative merits for a while yet. It hasn't immediately struck me as being a stand out item, although I would concede we may not be the best judges of our own scribbles. :) Best wishes, Dave
<Deleted User> (9882)
Thu 26th Feb 2015 12:02
without any doubt Dave,this is definitely your best poem-so far.Well done.x
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