Oh how they’ve spoilt it all
those poets past
their perceptive expressions
lingering
lying in wait as wolves
to savage those cries of the moment
and blunt the impact
the meaning blurred
the motive suspect

And those cries oh those cries
that strive for the medium
to convey the pain
the desperate wanting
the love

They drown
swamped suffocated
by those cliches
rising from the past
stagnant in the present

The communion lies stillborn
its depth indistinct
as we lay dreaming
of what we really would say
if it hadn’t been said before.

 

**  Stace says: Another from my old collection of poems from the seventies/eighties creeping into the light