The last poem written,
always seems the first.
instead of satisfaction,
it offers lingering thirst.
The heart feels so spent,
intrigue found in mystery.
Deep into my well I went,
To discover lasting beauty.
Will I ever again capture,
The essence of a thought?
That fills me with rapture,
To unveil all that I sought.
The last poem written,
Always seems the last.
Instead of satisfaction,
But a memory now past.
A little taste of death,
Without having to die.
A little lasting sorrow,
Without having to cry.
Give me one last poem,
One jewel never to dim.
One last pure inspiration,
The seeking heart to win.
May the last poem endure,
Its lyric music to offer cure.
AH! PERISH THE THOUGHT! INDEED, IT ONLY 'SEEMS' SO, FOR AS LONG AS HE WHO FILTERS ALL BEAUTEOUS WORKS...LIVES, POEMS WILL COME...IN THE AIR, ON THE WIND! HIS 'LETTER' TO US IS FILLED WITH POETRY, HE IS A MASTER POET! SO, NO NEED TO EVEN ENTERTAIN SUCH A THOUGHT, THOUGH IT DOES MAKE BEAUTIFUL POETRY(SMILE), JUST SLEEP PEACEFULLY, AND WAKE(THIS SIDE OR THE OTHER)...INSPIRATION WILL BE THERE, WAITING...TO FILL. THANKS FOR SHARING, JOHN. LOVE, BLESSINGS AND FAITH...JOYCE * HIS INSPIRATIONS
We can only expect a very few of our poems to endure. But with each masterpiece posted, there is an urge to top it with something even better, next time. I don't think that you have hit your prime yet, so you will have to keep writing and posting until that very last poem that you write. Changing the paradigm from now until then.
Every time my muse takes leave, I wonder if it will ever return. Was my last poem doomed to be my last poem, or will I write again? Enjoyed your thoughts on this.
A unique perspective. The last poem I wrote seems like a particular fragrance (or miasma, depending on the subject matter) that came and went in the wind. Enjoyed your view here, John. Well done. Peace... r
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Rebecca
Love ya!
Jane
Ron
Cheers,
Dan