The Sighing Man

The sighing man

Swung the axe

To split the wood

To warm his heart

Every true stroke

Cleaving through

Taught him how

The fire burnt

Every stroke stopped

By false grain

Taught him how

To sigh again

The Poet

He took a clipboard, a ballpoint pen,

He sat in the sun and then,,,,,,,

He gazed at the sky, the inexplicable clouds,

Heard trees sigh untranslatable tones,

Thought of all that was undone, unsaid, unsung,

Wrote with his pen letters and words,

Untidy, unseen, unheard.

How are you?

How are you?

O you know,

The tide of time

Washes along my coastline

And one day

The cliff of my existance

Will crumble and tumble

Into it’s waves.


I’m fine.