Spontaneous!A Poem by William RousseauFree verseMy thoughts stream
endlessly, running through continents like the satellite states
of the Soviet Empire. Nestled in the comfort of
dreams of tomorrow, I break with the present,
in an unkempt mind. My memories lay scattered,
like an apartment of an old poet who grew
up in the Silent Age.
One runs to another, with
no apparent direction. Is this a dream, or is it
fantasy? Brief flashes shock the
dormant conscience, like the vision of Paul,
as he rode to Damascus. Once confident, but now
inspired; spontaneous jazz maestro scatting
Godly verses.
To follow the heart, is
to follow aphorisms constructed in haste,
with no deliberation. Much as Augustus
constructed an empire destined to falter in
imperial tatters, thoughts and poems are
constructed haphazardly, lacking precision when
running in streams.
Virtue sparks hope, our
proud possession. It reigns above, like the
peak of the Pyrenees, whose terrain shelters
the Iberian Peninsula. Ancient kingdoms could
not reach splendors, concocted by shadows
casted by the specter of a staccato melody
played by memories. Will there be an end to
the beginning, in this life with no
point of return? Only words provide the
answer the body craves from the
cradle to the grave. Lost in translation,
resolution is muddled by ancestral delusions; a
world with no ending.
© 2018 William Rousseau |
StatsAuthorWilliam RousseauChicago, ILAboutI enjoy writing in my free time. That sums things up. more..Writing
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