Gifts

Gift

Gift

Gift

 

Out there beyond the torpor

Past the grey, cold December light

Other people rush to be involved

Get infected by the seasons’ promise

And find them-selves snarled-up

In traffic. Impetuous to please

 

And so they are gone

Wrapped in their own little bubbles

Imperilled coloured baubles

Infused with fractious lust

Aspirations bloated by want

Adrift in false desire

 

I am witness. Quietly

In a harbour of my own

Less the glitter

Less ardent

But floating nonetheless

In perilous ennui

 

But they have a point

For high days and festivals

Deserve a sincere approach

And I am not fervent

In any of my preparations

Perhaps less qualified for the gift

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s