My115thDream

Dave's Mental Meanderings
2004-05-21 05:59:42 (UTC)

Poem - "Swords to Plowshares"

A rumbling timbre is taken anew
By a voice that’s been here all along.
It rises and falls and lurches and stalls
But it never lies dormant for long.
By trial and error I’ve come to accept
That proper context is needed,
Trial by fire and error of judgment
When twice this advice was heeded.
A delicate balance must first be achieved
And arguments heard with reverence,
Only hearing one side is a fool’s point of pride
And can lead to unwarranted severance.
But too much caution is equally fatal
In light of what once it has wrought,
For there’s no lower bound to plurality’s ground
In the absence of unified thought.
Amidst all these concerns, I won’t soon discern
A finalized course of action,
For soon my thoughts will be in a place
Where such worries can’t hope to gain traction.
Concerns for the urns of the ashen ideals
Will soon become all but inviscid,
Not a moment of time nor a meter of rhyme
Will acknowledge a world so insipid.
A month from tomorrow I’ll climb up the vines
That from seeds of adventure have grown,
A new world boy on the Old Kings’ Road
Setting sail for landscapes unknown.
With wide-eyed belief in the purest of dreams
Of the beauty of transient life,
Apprehension will cower and cringe
Like a man at the point of a knife.
With my world strapped to my back underneath
A brand-new setting sun,
The only limit to what I might learn
Is how far my feet choose to run.
In the next thirty days I’ll soak up some rays
And tie some loose ends up for now,
I’d do well to beat my battle-torn sword
Back into the blade of a plow.