by Richard Vince

This is no time for sentimental strings
And long gloved caresses; just shrug
At the falling spring rain, retreating
Vulture like into a high collared
Coat of iron grey.

Pianos and soft lights mingle with
Ulster accents as the setting
Changes to something more fitting.

Songs about dreams form
Timely reminders that
Dreams should still exist, not be
Suffocated by what we all too often
Call life.

Dark eyes are difficult to read, but
I fear that I saw resignation there.

I wish I could find these words, but
This is no time for sentimental strings,
And as I write, I shrug

Songs are like lives: they are
Subtly unique and are remembered
By generations after the ones into which
They were born.

So make your life a song;
A song of joy, of revelation, of beauty,
But mostly of love, because love is
What survives long after all else disappears,
And love is why we live.


Posted on 08/23/2011
Copyright © 2022 Richard Vince

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by George Hoerner on 08/24/11 at 12:56 AM

Love certainly makes life worth while. But like most things it means different things for each of us and at different times in our lives. I've come believe that it is difficult in any form and at any time. I've carried one since I was a senior in high school. Good write Richard.

Posted by Ken Harnisch on 08/24/11 at 09:59 AM

Applause! Bravo, sir...well-spoken, well-read..and damned true!

Posted by Kristine Briese on 08/24/11 at 04:56 PM

You've don it again, my gifted friend. That 6th stanza especially resonates with me.

Posted by Mo Couts on 08/24/11 at 07:43 PM

Your last stanza says so much...man oh man. Exquisitely beautiful.

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