You couldn’t care less for drunkenness from booze:
you’re tipsy from fresh air – intoxicant you choose.
The kisses that return as ghosts aren’t wanted:
much more than any house, a heart is haunted.
You needn’t live in fear of being shattered:
like seeds from pods, everyone is scattered.
You’re sad your conscience isn’t pure. At least
you have a conscience since you aren’t a beast.
When I was lost, the forest didn’t find me,
but if I forget the way, it could remind me.
A century passed away. Its corpse looked bleak,
but you felt hope in songs from a thrush’s beak.
Like a beautiful melody, a picture poser
reminds me the cosmos has a composer.
Inspired by 1) Emily Dickinson, I taste a liquor never brewed 2) Carl Sandburg, Kisses, Can You Come Back Like Ghosts? 3) Richard Wilbur, Two Voices In A Meadow 4) Wislawa Szymborska, In Praise of Feeling Bad About Yourself 5) David Wagoner, Lost 6) Thomas Hardy, The Darkling Thrush 7) W.H. Auden, The Composer
Mario A. Pita