the left-behind:
no longer kept
by those who’ve fled
that place, or stage –
the ruthlessness
of time, who drops
the best things of
another age
the smiles that worked,
the words that soothed,
now empty echoes
in the grass
the left-behind:
the parts of us
that like us, too
must surely
pass
A quote, I think by Samuel Taylor Coleridge, sums this up:
“I wish our clever young poets would remember my homely definitions of prose and poetry; that is, prose,—words in their best order; poetry,—the best words in their best order.”
These words definitely fit the bill.
Thank you, sir!
Reblogged this on Peter's pondering and commented:
Owen, who has No Talent For Certainty, writes some amazing poetry. I think he has excelled himself with this. See what you think!