By Shirley Segev
© Shirley Segev
Permission is given hereby to all who want to use these poems personally for their enjoyment and/or share them freely with others: verbally, in writing, online, or otherwise, by copying them without making any changes, and as long as they do not receive any payment in return.
Contact: shirley.segev@sympatico.ca
I came for
your meandering paths,
for the peace falling upon me
from your tall quiet trees
for the whisper
of the soft melting snow
rolling down the banks
for the light and the air.
You gave me dark rotten bark
a thick thud of water like the old
man's piss,
the wind pricking with a hiss
and a last minute sun,
at the gate, laughing,
"Yes, I know it's too late "
I am sitting here
stuck to this chair
feeling undone
the day is gone.
Am I productive now
only because
I am sitting here
stuck to this chair
— not a walk in the park —
just the dark.
This trip, its roads not taken,
littered with the bony carcasses
of killed decisions
and a million indecisions,
ghosts dancing in the dark,
darting now and then
towards the lights,
yet out of time and place,
blinding the moment's path
with their dry bloodied
silent stare,
this trip, its road kill here
and there.