Towards Better Democracy

Good words, well written, better the world. Good literature betters the world immeasurably.


Uncertain, tremulous
Which way to go.

The path forks
No sign. A certain
Lassitude hangs.

A cloud over me
Tired from the week
So long, so eventful.

Tired, rest I say
And don’t find that

There seems so much
To do. Time is precious
Now with three quarters
Of a life gone.

Not squandered I suppose
But unfulfilled. Of not,
Of never, having done
What I wanted to do.

Even these lines have
Have a heaviness, the
Keys leaden, the finger
Tips fumbling across
The QWERTY, stumbling.

Why not relax. Take it
That is difficult to
Let go the reigns
When you are still
Upon the horse.

Which, too, seems,
Unguided, slow
This fine steed
So good in the gallop
Today, like me, is all
But idle.

Malcolm D B Munro
Friday 29 April, 2016

Filed under: poetry

One Response

  1. Bad Wolf says:

    Great piece, Malcolm!

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