some days
from looks
seem oh so
ordinary. . .

but in the trunk
of living things
instead of
+++++ gems,
+++++ treasure, gold rings,
or in addition,
+++++ lie the lyre-like
+++++ pinched and twisted,
+++++ and much played upon,
heart strings,
+++++ which may, in the spiral
+++++ of their springs
+++++ abide
+++++ the makings of a coronary. . .

a heart worked hard
and not eased
and trained into
the joyful loving music
it was meant for
may somehow yet be teased
into its natural ways,
seeking peace,
and of its blessings,
singing praise,
if it haps upon
a gentle mentor. . .

it may then well go into
a stirring, old-hurts-blurring,
happy phase
so marvelous
that it ends up
seeking an encore.

This entry was posted in Medium Length Poems, Poetry, Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

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