Buried in blue and yellow, <br />Beneath fire blankets <br />And a bold maroon comforter, <br />One sheet lumped in a corner, <br />I am just warm enough <br />To be unselfishly conscious <br />Even of my own thoughts… <br /> <br />Absent of physical strain, <br />Tired, I try to focus <br />While holding my magic pen, <br />Which carries a precious secret? <br />But it floats away <br />Like music once it passed <br />The secret way <br />While going out preserved, <br />Totally undisturbed… <br /> <br />Suddenly, I heard a loud voice <br />This seemed to remove the distance, <br />Perhaps, it was my soul, <br />Speaking to me of worthy things <br />Or urging my heart to be willing… <br /> <br />Now, I am seeking more <br />Than hiding behind my weariness, <br />Looking into the darkest bright, <br />Seeing riddles hidden in my soul <br />And questioning at the same time <br />My broken and stubborn heart, <br />Why do you still refuse <br />To reconcile with my eased mind? <br />No answer precipitates the air <br />Breathing this weary poet… <br /> <br /> <br />©All Rights Reserved-2011<br /><br />Romeo Della Valle<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-weary-poet/
