younger than me
sweeter than I could ever be
what is more lonesome
than the youth
that drags its own wings through the dirt?
what else would I have done?
I’ve watched hope spring
time and time again
cling its moist roots
to arid land
somehow
as infertile a wild;
some auspice offered
to skin softer than mine
what I’d lost
before they’d begun to gain
bucks buried in the halogen
of the world ahead
and what small sorrow it crows for yet
like a father’s shaking hands
before I knew what trembling was
or what such a shaken man begets
or life along the highway line
another cry carried on the air
threatened like road-wandering swine
a frightened feral
what is more uncaring
than childhood fancy –
what is more forgetful of me?
how abrupt has it been
and then to end in collision
flame spiraling, firing off its hot spittle –
the youngest of the few
never quite young enough
By toukakouka, ©2020
See more of toukakouka’s Poetry here.
Such talent in a poet so young. A future lies ahead for this one. These words touched me deeply:
“…and what small sorrow it crows for yet
like a father’s shaking hands
before I knew what trembling was
or what such a shaken man begets…”
Wonderful. Well done, Poet.
Rick
Thanks for checking it out Rick. Great recommendation, her writing is inspiring. I know she will go far with this.