I Passed This Way Before

#Five

 

I  P A S S E D   T H I S  W A Y   B E F O R E

 

 

 

 

 

 

I passed this way but once before

and stopped to take such notice

as to see the birds and bees as they fly –

and to joke of my own novice.

 

Whom am I to say such words, and try so hard: encourage.

My verbosity would seem to me to always so discourage;

for what are words or thoughts in this grand old silly game –

these details with such distance grow oh, so much more inane.

 

Can I take courage or shall I take doubt?

That I would be so useful?

Or is it merely wishful thinking –

born of innocence much yet youthful?

 

Oh, the problems of which I spoke –

I am so very guilty.

And how the manner of all flesh,

is to gather stones so quickly!

 

For I would never so propose

a judgement built so quickly –

As my own flesh hath falt so short,

and  glory seemt as prickly.

 

That I would not consider

in moment’s thought,

to ignore all the weeping hearts

these hands themselves hath wrought.

 

The sin you speak – this sin you see,

it well should be my own.

Speak  I less harsh and ponder more,

lest my own errs soont  be shown.

 

Oh, yes, you know I am the fool here –

to trust in rhyme and verse;

to find a way to talk to you

in language found less terse.

 

But is it ever worth it?

To play the fool once more?

And hope that maybe in this one scene –

the writer hath changed the score?

 

Oh, no – I so doubt it.

It would not make sense to be.

Such fountains of such wishful thinking,

so inherent to the character of me.

 

Across my feet the leaves of fall do fly,

down, tumbling –  this autumn street.

And in the air, I hear the wind –

its moan so less discreet.

 

It is the season for these things –

the cold doth rule the night.

We hope that with each new spring might come

a warm sun to shine her light.

 

But winter is here for now,

and cold decay her rule.

Loneliness and gloom they seem to sit around –

as if it were the rule.

 

How hearts are so much like the weather.

In seasons they so do turn.

In time they will be, all – so frozen.

In time – they will al-so burn.

 

I passed this way but once before,

and stopped to take such notice.

As to see the birds and bees as they fly –

and to joke of my own novice.

 

mbl – 12/16/01

 

About hollerscholar

I'm a theology & philosophy student, writer, web developer, and medical laboratory professional.
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