I have stowed away my coffee spoons; <br />marching time engulfs my gloom. <br /> <br />Once I was the dandelion, <br />sun soft petals look so fine, <br />receptacle for wandering bees, <br />plucked by children with skinned knees, <br />fastened and linked to form a wreath. <br />A little joy at once bequeathed <br />before the wind scattered the seed <br />of the deceptive, backyard weed. <br /> <br />And they did once come and go, <br />without the help of Angelo. <br /> <br />I learned to love; I learned to hate. <br />And neither will in the end abate. <br />Greatness glimmered a few times. <br />Was at best a pantomime. <br />It was not to come to pass; <br />the buoyancy was not to last. <br />Strands of optimism were relieved <br />by the cost of nature's need. <br /> <br />Indecisions by the hundred, <br />Visions that life had plundered. <br /> <br />Floundering upon her rocky shores, <br />passing time among her whores, <br />Night and day were one to me. <br />I thought that sin would make me free. <br />Partially an element of truth, <br />The tempest in me began to soothe. <br />Solitude became my opiate. <br />For life's travails I was unfit. <br /> <br />Did he dare? Do we care? <br />With the bald spot in his hair. <br /> <br />Now I seek to repeat my youth <br />with different eyes to seek the truth. <br />When men and women would retire <br />to lick the wounds that now attire <br />the nudity of their insolence <br />to think that they could recompense. <br />I throw away my measuring cup, <br />no longer care when time is up. <br /> <br />12/13/09<br /><br />John Lyday<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/fallen-fruit-of-the-persimmon-tree/
