I’m shrouded in more mystery than Roswell,
Last year, believe me it was Hell,
But after every crucifixion there’s a resurrection,
The light leads me in the right direction,
The pen in my hand offers me guidance and protection,
The pen offers every page it touches love and affection,
This Perspicacious Poet strives for perfection,
Still I’m imperfect like the scar on my mid section,
I shorten my poems down as I’m looking for refinement,
One eye watches the sky, studying planetary alignment,
The clock keeps ticking, the hands keep moving, I wonder where time went?
My left hand won’t stop moving, I can’t stop writing lyrical assignments,
Does Poetry paper over the cracks? Or Is the train back on track?
Stacks of poetry prove I’m immortal, when I’m gone I’ll be back,
Like the terminator travelling from the future to the past,
Warning Mankind life is too short to waste,things happen so fast.
Picture found on Pinterest.
Written by : The Perspicacious Outcast (John Paul Harrington)
Originally written: Thursday 6th October 2016