Towards Better Democracy

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

It’s all coming back to me now

Now that I look at this ancient sepia photograph
Taken of old, no date, of childhood
Oh, how long ago it seems

Yet, it was only yesterday
When I was born
You can’t say renewed

Because the body is not like that
No machine or plastic language provides the right word
You see we don’t have ’em

Those words which might describe what it feels like
To be better than new
Any words I use don’t work

The words I best would use
Pertain to Nature
Ah, yes, those are best

A lark in the sky would do
Winging on high
Singing sweet song

Water, too, would do
Stream flowing a happy sound
Perhaps a babbling brook

No, no, not young again
That will not do
Talk of age captures not how I feel

Young again
Dreadful the image, the word
I am of no age, boundless, free

Truth to tell, though, I admit I am older now
Know more
Have wisdom even


But I have never felt
As I do now
With feet upon the ground

Malcolm D B Munro
Tuesday 5 June, 2018

Filed under: art, Culture, Media, poetry, songs, stories

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