Reverie
The moon reveals no face,
as it dies without grace.
The clouds are like dead sailors
in a dead sky.
They look at nothing
when they pass me by.
I try to write,
but think only in clichés.
I recall a line by Li Po,
but the thought would be his,
even if the words were mine,
the way a willow tree
drops its leaves into the river,
as it flows to the sea,
unaware of what it carries.
George Freek's poem "Enigmatic Variations" was recently nominated for Best of the Net. His poem "Night Thoughts" was also nominated for a Pushcart Prize.
The moon reveals no face,
as it dies without grace.
The clouds are like dead sailors
in a dead sky.
They look at nothing
when they pass me by.
I try to write,
but think only in clichés.
I recall a line by Li Po,
but the thought would be his,
even if the words were mine,
the way a willow tree
drops its leaves into the river,
as it flows to the sea,
unaware of what it carries.
George Freek's poem "Enigmatic Variations" was recently nominated for Best of the Net. His poem "Night Thoughts" was also nominated for a Pushcart Prize.
