A POET'S PLEA
What makes human beauty forever dance
In a heartbreaking sodden spiral?
How does my presence make itself felt
in a world so digitally viral?
If I pause a moment to take a fast breath
Will I then have more time to waste?
And what of my heart's one and only command
So devoutly and fervently chased?
I am connected to the red, red rose of desire
And lights on the screaming ambulance.
I am trying not to die, and happily, thus far
I continue by the grace of happenstance.
I am beautiful to see, but even unseen
I remain as I am, still beautiful.
For I have done all that is required of me,
I am nothing if not dutiful.
I spin my words, some frail, some bold
Some laced with power incandescent.
And because I have this chance to sing
My spirit remains effervescent.
But less talk of me, and more of you
Lest you think me indelibly rude.
I care what you think of what I have shared
Lest my meaning get lost or misconstrued.
Do you savor these words, do you read them with care
Or do you scan them with casual haste?
Do my thoughts convey form unto you
Or has it all gone terribly to waste?
Speak to me, dear reader, answer my plea
Let me know what you want me to write.
For if, for a moment, I thought I was wrong
I would move mountains to make thing all right.
©2015 Christopher Reilley
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