-- Something True --

John Herlihy

The flowery depictions of a poem are nothing but lies;

Human sadness lies there within, but one hears no sighs.

The poet writes of butterflies and fireflies who are not there;

The hopes, dreams, and desires mentioned only a prayer.

The poet draws upon first light with the rising of the day;

But just another day gone when twilight beauty drains away.

Even the light is exaggerated, those shadows in the weave;

Elements of nature contrived together with an air to deceive.

The tender intimacies of fresh love from beautiful words spun;

All the sorrows and miseries from a melancholy heart wrung.

Dignity of swans, those falling leaves, the rays of silvery moon,

The world seen through the poetic lens from a solitary room.

First light, brother wind, the evanescence of falling snow,

Images and symbols of beauty whose truth lies in the glow.

The words strung together as gift ribbons, waiting to speak,

Forgive me my indulgences, I am a mere mortal man weak.

All the truthful lies the poet can imagine, from all he knew,

Wishing to set something down on paper, something true .

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(c) John Herlihy 4 September 2020