By William s Peters sr

                           

That Poem

There was a poem waiting for me
When I turned away from the shadows
And towards the light

I was blinded by its brilliance,
And thus could not find
The required recording apparatus
That I may hold to its spirit,
Though I remember its profundity,
And the manner in which
Its eloquent essence embraced
My soul once again

This began to ‘again’
Raise my age-old question,
'What is the perfect poem?'
I do know it exists
In me, in you, in creation,
But how exactly do we elucidate
Its lore ...
How do we begin  to fathom
Enunciating that
Which heretofore
Dances in the realm
Of the 'unspeakable'?

Throughout my brief visit here
On fringes
In the aura of eternity,
I have witnessed her shy glimpses ....
'That Poem'.
.....
I have seen her light
As fleeting sprinkles
In the eyes of children,
And old men alike ...
She many times hides
In those children's eyes
Exposing her mesmerizing ‘chi’
As a twinkling 'Wonder'
And intermittent smiles,
Laughter
And impishness

I love when she visits
Without fanfare
Stoking my belief in things,
Things that are,
Things that were,
And things that will come

She imparts to my soul
A knowing
That 'Home' exists,
And it is more than a fable,
Or a story,
Or an 'Old Wives Tale'
....
Are not it a special thing
That she exists
Just outside of the realm
Of our imaginary fingertips,
Otherwise, I fear that we,
The empirical bards
Who have departed from
The archaic foundations of language
Would surely choke her to death
In our attempt
To validate our nothingness,
Bolster our esteem
And falsely lorde over
Her verse ...
.....
Sad we are,
Saddened am i
For wanting to capture
That which is meant for us
But to admire
And whisper about
Into the memoirs of time
For those to come
That 'That Poem'
We/I chase
Lives within
Each of us.

That Poem


(c) 7 july 2020 : william s. peters, sr.

www.iamjustbill.com