I meandered from this plastic world,
Of silicone charlatans,
Paper tigers in cardboard cages.
This well-trod path toward Wonder curled.
With heightened every faculty,
Around each turn another yet,
And the trail it rises higher still,
Each crest a broader world to see.
And hence do these two worlds collide,
Of the past and the present Me.
Of true and false, of mystery,
Contrasted boldly. Inside, outside.
Now I fold and gently knead,
And loaf this new Me, let to rise.
A crusty crust, yet soft within,
Warm and whole in thought and deed.
I hope you don’t think me unkind,
Must you remain in this land of mimes
And brightly backlit images of
This phony world I leave behind.
For all the colored flags unfurled
And shiny things to catch the eye,
The tin machines and mounds of gold
Are good for naught in Nature’s world.
My voice I’ve joined with nightingales’,
With eagles I have flown on high,
Held up my gaze to seek the joy
Of blue skies where the storm cloud sails.
I felt compelled to let you know,
As I blend into the trees,
Am borne aloft upon the breeze,
In case you wonder “Where’d he go?”
I’m Scott R. O’Connor, and write as a hobby from my home in upstate New
York, USA. I live and walk the shores of the Mohawk River, in the shadow of
James Fennimore Cooper’s Letherstocking Tales. My works are shared on my
Drop by, won’t you?
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