Some live through obstacles and rise again.
Some hanker after time.
Some allow others to tell them differently.
Some move ahead. Alone. Dazed.
Every life pales when death springs its trap,
Fresh strike of wasting, our striving, your ruckus,
We remain strangers in our little caves.
What am I but a tourist, you hard-working neighbour,
You fearful host, your drawbridge, your fortress, sanctum nigh.
What image do we leave to linger?
Gather, scatter all the more.
It’s the first Open Link Night of 2016 over at dVerse Poets Pub, and, although I thought I wouldn’t have time to write a poem, I found a draft of one in my drawer. Had to celebrate the New Year and the reopening of the pub somehow!