Crisis

 

 

Stranded, lost in the

thickest part of the woods,

 

wanting to play

it back in dog years,

 

to retrace the crumbed

and pebbled path,

 

to connect every hair

fallen from my head,

 

to create a new, craftier maze

through the forest of youth.

 

Wandering bygone bars,

dazed by fool’s gold moon,

 

surviving on sugar daddy,

the charity of berries,

 

the woebegone quest

exhausts, abscinds

 

the birds of then

have strewn the way

 

and coil gray threads

through nests of lust.

4 comments

  1. Hi Craig

    You present an interesting journey, one intricate and indicative of the human condition, when age has entered our lives and we need to reflect and find meaning again. I really like the analogy of re-entering the woods and trying to reconstruct that earlier path to understand where we faltered and revise. Fine language and imagery add to the effectiveness of this poem!

    Thanks for sharing
    my best
    Wendy

    Like

  2. Craig,

    First … my sincere apology. I know I replied to this poem…
    I just don’t know what happened to that reply. I felt the
    full force of the pen with this one. Seems like time will
    have its way, no matter the rhyme or reason.

    “to create a new, craftier maze

    through the forest of youth.”

    The sagest words in a sage poem. They are our latest addition
    to Bon Mots II.

    Many thanks,

    Sarah

    Like

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