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In Conjuction To Being
by Philip F De Pinto
Where enter
The thing which is
At present out
Of the question
In conjunction to being
Out of sight
Out of mind
Out of bounds
Of your playing field
Who after sowing many hours
Indoors
Finds itself
Reaping outdoors
What it takes four hands
To stack
Such hay
As heartbreak makes
And Monet paints
This thing
Which wonders
While it makes its way
Through alleyway
After alleyway
If there is a back entrance
Some crevice somewhere
To force the issue of re-entry
Into the question
Into sight
Into mind
Into your playing field
That two may reap
And stack hay
To yield to Monet's
Every stroke and whim
11/27/2013 Posted on 11/27/2013
Copyright © 2024 Philip F De Pinto
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Steve Michaels on 11/29/13 at 05:48 PM This one is spot on and strangely - exactly like how I've been thinking today. |
| Posted by Veronica Phoenics on 12/10/13 at 05:34 PM "Such hay
As heartbreak makes
And Monet paints"
just excellent!! i also like the mirroring juxtaposition of reconcilement. |
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