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About This Author
My name is Joy, and I love to write.
Why poetry, here? Because poetry uplifts its writer, and if she is lucky enough, her readers, too. Around us, so many objects abound to write about. Once a poet starts with a smallest, most trivial object, he shall discover that his pen will spill out what is most delicate or most majestic hidden inside him. Since the classics sometimes dealt with lofty subjects with a lofty language, a person with poetry in his soul may incline to emulate that. That is understandable. Poetry does that to a person: it enlarges the soul and gives it wings. Yet, to really soar, a poet needs to take off from the ground.
 
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Green Peas at Stake #262326 added October 19, 2003 at 7:21pm
Restrictions: None
Heresy
I gaze into the old photo album,
for
regret,
a secret vice, so loyal,
grabs the heart like a vise,
never deserting,
and I recall you showing me
your old dog cuddling the stray kitten:
“See, how unlikely!
If they make it,
why can’t we?”
But I, too juvenile too unwise,
believed in the silly counsel of others
in my clumsiness,
since you, an ancient poet,
had already written your past
in volumes and tomes.
Now, thirty-two years later,
in broad daylight,
no more are there stars
to wish on,
and
a gibberish,
akin to smoke spiraling up
through the chimney,
rises inside my mind:
“Why do I still weep
for not dancing
with you?”
This may be heresy,
but I think,
then,
if I knew,
where to stand...
I’d stand beside you.
If for nothing else,
I’d have good photos
to show for my life.
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© Copyright 2003 Joy (UN: joycag at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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