Saturday, November 24, 2007


Love is low, deep down low, where it’s always been
trying hard to rise above stacked up disregard
and mountainous piles of inconsequential junk
to land in the awareness of the disadvantaged.

But there’s trouble in the camp of this gypsy clan
who thirsty search for water in another’s field
and make up the loving from an overflow
un-contained within by he who dug the well.

Yet be it not a sad, sad, tale of doomed to be a fool
because overflows like rain on seeds can produce a tree
and shade the path of he who walks aloof and alone
up and down, up and down, in the same old-fashioned way.

But to hold and keep forever the times of being deprived
makes nonsense of a mind’s inbuilt override
and grants regal status to sensory impulses
implanted and connected by the uninformed.

All it takes is a firm stand in one state of being
for the disadvantaged to grow tall stately trees
but until love rises up from the deep down depths
the drip and drop from overflows makes a lover, see?

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