The Pilgrimage: Part 28 / Phillip Neal Tippin
I need more room for melancholy,
Without a chance of it hurting you,
Without the worry of a reason
So oft’ soft falling beyond me
In some song or in a brume’s dripping dew.
I eye it in the corner in trepidation,
Afraid that what I find I won’t like
Too late.
Naming the dates of my thoughts as they
Alight
And in what era they would have been found
Wanting.
In most ways
Obedience
Doesn’t speak.
There are more stories
Yet
Obedience at this step
We trade
Gloamy days
What you could really use,
Or misuse, is immortality,
As has been rightly guarded
But now brought to light.
Words sparing
To fight
Individual cliché
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