somewhere, Peace may hold a place.
the table might be full.
i couldn't say this yea or nay;
i merely feel its pull.
this yen informs my ev'ry act.
i hunger for that food...
a meal i may not get to taste.
my repasts, here, are rude.
i brood upon the folk i knew
who may've joined the party.
a friend, a foe, a fleeting meet'--
perhaps they're eating hearty--
mayhap they eye an empty seat,
and wonder why i dally.
maybe they whisper of my deeds
down in this blasted valley.
an ex of mine is set to dine--
or next in line, at least.
"oh, Thomas? -yes, he's fine.
"i'd bet his mind is on this feast...
"he often spoke of being here.
"i heard him. once or twice.
"i saw him in the Bauble, though.
"his heart...it looked like ice..."
frowning, she might pause a spell.
but Peace would sense her fugue--
glide over, smiles as ministers,
sweet droplets, a deluge--
oh, lucky she! -oh, lucky love!
-somewhere, there's sugar rain...
here i sit, pondering it;
scrawling a book of pain.
(i see you wrote a chapter.
may i read your words aloud?
an author, asking after,
should be lent ear of a crowd--
i know you want your story told.
i know it in my bones.
i'll read your passage faithfully.
until our books are closed.)
i leapt from Gervais Bridge one day,
and heard their distant din.
i missed the rapids by a tad.
i will not miss again.
you see, i have to learn the truth!
for, saddened or delighted,
at least i'll start to eat...or starve.
i may not be invited.
-i hear silverware's song, and lazy laughter lilting. thomas the younger; september 15th, 2009. all rights reserved. (...or are they.)