my life was
a promise
of everything
with the
reality of
less
decades passed
and piled up like
old timber
in a neglected
meadow
out back
occasionally
someone
stopped by
acting
interested
in the wood
they came by
like the
years and
i always listened...
but they
just talked
that's some
good old
timber there
they'd say…
ever try to
sell it...
i used to
i'd reply...
but don't
anymore
no one
wants to pay
whatta ya want
for it
they'd ask…
nothing
i'd say...
just take it
awhile ago
i looked
and
the old
timber was
still there
like me
it has
learned to
be at home
out back
in the meadow...
Bobby Jameson Feb 28, 2011 edited dec, 2014
That's the great distinction between timber and art; logs, once cut, can rot, but music, once "cut," can continue untarnished forever. I am really pleased that you continue to post your stories, poems, and songs that they might live or live again.
ReplyDeleteTim