Our Clairvoyant Youth
He chooses to dream, to grasp
the luminosity of prospect;
His perpetual reveries prevail over
Our world’s plodding decay.
His quests of blithe and mirth
Form the stars we wish upon.
What, without the child’s hope,
the child’s vision, is life?
Only the abandoned civilization
with the Grays and Shadows,
Entrusting little room in lieu of obscurity.
In some, the spirit lives to tell the tale,
but in others, it expires and is then forsaken.
His mind’s eye gives
To what was once oblivion.
The colors of his dreaming play the guitars;
They create the vinyl records that are playing.
Let them remain inspiration of our art.
Embrace the blue skies;
Leave no bitter remain.
Wait not for your life to begin.
Though when your feathers have vanished
And you can no longer fly,
Seek the beat.
Now, I have found my feet.
What you see is what is to be.
The muses for my latest poem are the nostalgia from yesterday's jog, bonding with the little man I call my brother, and the light chat with Mary Katherene Alampay.
the luminosity of prospect;
His perpetual reveries prevail over
Our world’s plodding decay.
His quests of blithe and mirth
Form the stars we wish upon.
What, without the child’s hope,
the child’s vision, is life?
Only the abandoned civilization
with the Grays and Shadows,
Entrusting little room in lieu of obscurity.
In some, the spirit lives to tell the tale,
but in others, it expires and is then forsaken.
His mind’s eye gives
To what was once oblivion.
The colors of his dreaming play the guitars;
They create the vinyl records that are playing.
Let them remain inspiration of our art.
Embrace the blue skies;
Leave no bitter remain.
Wait not for your life to begin.
Though when your feathers have vanished
And you can no longer fly,
Seek the beat.
Now, I have found my feet.
What you see is what is to be.
The muses for my latest poem are the nostalgia from yesterday's jog, bonding with the little man I call my brother, and the light chat with Mary Katherene Alampay.