Brass Tacks

That heart of gold I was searching for
Has passed me, bye, and found an ending elsewhere;
Chasing the sunset and the final mystery—
Grow old, die, who’s gonna cry or care?

Finest wines and vines splendid,
My only lasting loving friends.
[We’ve] some trouble down there,
With no lover to share these bends.

Harvest some words for this one empty page,
Everyone else out there chasing the latest rage.

Don’t tumble much dice, do you?
Crimes of passion outweigh the ones of neglect.
Maybe I never ought to have learned
That most things in life we all can cathect.

Refill the goblet and wipe the counter—
Whimsical droplets tell their own tale;
But you came for something more eclectic,
Not this wheeze with no secret to entail.

Grow the rhymes to fill up the charm;
Empty is as empty does, what’s the harm?

Catering to hearts promise-given to another;
Forgiving Alabama and Neil Young, now so old;
Like I said, dropped my heart of gold, sure as not—
Such an old story the young won’t hear when told.

Finest vines give wines so splendid—
My only lasting loving friends.
Born in the 50’s and so damn sure:
Wish I’d found that love they say never ends.

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About Kitt

Sometimes a rhyme or couplet wanders across my consciousness. So, I share it. Other times I'm a hospice social worker; others, a Dad; others, southerner, New Orleanian, cajun enthusiast, voter, and on better days, a not-too-awful-poet/rhymster. Welcome to my page. Enjoy.

Posted on March 22, 2019, in Poem and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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