Sunday, December 11, 2016

The Second Conflict

He was waiting right there,
Squinting eyes under sun,
So beautiful and fair,
Sharp as a lonely gun.
Yeah, I know he's deadly,
But there's love that's lovely.

He reaches out a hand,
And here I give him mine
In this huge and green land,
Where all things stay in line,
For I've lost tragedy
And I am not ready

To write another thing
Of what the poet sings
On a flying bird's wings.

So I go on with him
In his beautiful world,
Loving each of his sins
On a New Year's Day cold.
This is my new story
In a lack of worry.

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