I
I don’t mean to blaspheme,
say silly things, swear.
You don’t believe, and I
would not care,
behind the wheel
all night; I heard
the 1st bell ring
Sunday last; the cock crew
once and who knew!
where I was.
It suits me not
to think, to lie with my
windows down. I came
down, fell
like the morning rain.
II
Another way to live is to love,
give, to spite yourself.
Some god reveals itself,
not at the pinnacle
of suffering, perhaps;
but during an interlude,
the pause between 2 sips
of a drink. It hits you – then,
amid the festive din
or the cool solitude
of your sitting room.
The mind might strike
some mine, on the road;
here inside. Not-know how,
why. The soul
is dry. Give
in; you might try
not to care by all means
but love.
glad you think that Peter. The wisdom is still being won. I’m trying
How this all ‘rings’ so true, that feeling ‘I came / down, fell / like the morning rain.
A fine meditation, Marco, a ‘thinking upon’, and a hard-won human wisdom conclusion:
The soul
is dry. Give
in; you might try
not to care by all means
but love.