Findings

A mixture of free verse and rhyme

My ‘dream’ (a silent language of the soul)

Flew me, faster than light,

To a place beyond another realm.

A parkland of all that was squandered.

Life’s ghosts, of a life spent unwisely;

Life cut off from low karma.

 

Meandering through this strange locale

I found writers, students of such aptitude

Passed by for the gentry’ gods

Who take their place.

Those big kahunas

idling on their pedestals

watching the minnows below

swim for their lives.

 

I came upon their children,

Their eyes in sinking sockets;

Dried out skin stretched to its limit

Over facial bones.

Uneducated, barefooted children,

Working in the fields

With no winter memories of a Childhood.

 

So many ghosts.

 

The slackers, the gossips, those in position;

The poor with their dreams that ne’er came to fruition.

And love rejected on foaming lips,

Never to taste those honey drips.

Songs that ne’er were given tongue,

Words left limp and droopingly hung.

Those unsung songs that sat by streams

And pondered on the puppets’ dreams.

I saw all the whims of all creation

And left them there, at their station.

 

I had asked, I was shown and I learnt.

 

 

 

Author's Note

I was shown a picture and asked to write a poem about it. This is what I saw and this is what I thought.