by John Herzog
do you remember your first time?
you first clasped
the scraps of your old odes
and cast them into flame
surrendered your songs of yesterday
instead heeding hymns for tomorrow
what once were unfinished laments
for futures that would never be
yet now they are
now it is
you were never ready to write this
waits for no one
and it wasn't going to wait for you
to sing in key
you may not carry its tune
but still it carries you
95 stories above the city
where lie before you
all the songs
it is time to sing
Author's Note: CTA bus route 70.
Posted on 12/12/2017
Copyright © 2021 John Herzog
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 12/13/17 at 08:13 PM|
Your poem rings true, throughout. It subscribes to the dilemma all writers face from beginning to end.
|Posted by George Hoerner on 12/15/17 at 01:14 AM|
I see you live in Chicago. It is one of my favorite cities. I love large cities as they generally have so much to offer. The art institute there has so many great pieces. Your write is personal but has a real 'ring' for me.