My Novembers
Pedestrian is the perfect term for the passers by
as they glance through the glass of the door
my companion keeps her thoughts close
as I share my Novembers poem by poem
age and youth are often at odds
yet find strength in their difference
then again broken locks are forever useless
the secrets they reveal forever turn in the wind
if parallel roads can have different destinations
they are still linked by the neutral ground between them
she hears my poems and perhaps wonders who I am
I read my poems and realize
our buried dreams have a way of working to the surface
reminding us we are not who we want to be
posted by Martin Lanaux @ 6:44 PM
1 comments
1 Comments:
Very nice poem,I can visualize the people walking, a broken lock, I see the dream as a thing crawling, clawing up through the dirt, uncovering itself, surfacing in a cemetery full of peoples' dreams that never came true. My dreams, however, comfort me as they remind me of great things still to come. Once again you have succeeded in doing what the poet is meant to do.
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