.. after 'Flights of Fancy, or Imaginary Scraps'
by Charles Carrick
a tormented book
of unrequited love
from victorian times
i halt at it because
this could be me even now
doing work after work
creating a private world
as broken and limited
as the real world
a reality that can be
a prison of my own creation
inwardly expressed
or outwardly proclaimed
displaying a lack of faith
or a flaw in courage
*
create and have hope
spring from your sadness
or doubts mature into truth
that in turn invalidates more doubt
through rigorous action
*
but how i would enjoy
the attempt to loaf and bluff
say this too shall pass
how i would like
to linger with blots and stamps
late at night flickering flames
behold a sweet moon
and weep my heart out
**
Thanksgiving
Napa, 2015
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