After Dark
In the Village before it was fashionable
And you descended from skyscraper heights
Far above city lights
And commenced the Golden Age
Après l’heure bleu when it was reasonable
And I was foolish and deluded
As you were then by the praise of men
We saw a play called Mandragola
And gladly wasted a few hours
Burning through my hard-earned dollars
Rubbing shoulders with wealthy dullards
At evening’s end went home to bed
Exhausted by the lies of dilletantes
Souls barren as an arid wilderness
But unable to rest, I stopped to watch the Moon
Rising gracefully in its quiet afternoon
An argosy on sparkling seas
Pure and artless, riding in the breeze…
And far beyond pretentious dreams.
Dreams are all about pretence ... but when the dreams of another seem to exclude how we see ourselves, they appear pretentious. The penning here as light tone but is very sure of its mark in expression and craft. Bravo.
thank you, Pryde - Yes, a difficult process of teasing out who you are from others' expectations and sometimes from your own :)
We are always changing. It is a very difficult job:)
This actually reads as a memory. A real memory, looking through the glass of poetry.
very perceptive, @flashfiction
I was quite confused with the Moon and afternoon. I thought it might mean something else. 😀
Hi Raquelita - no, I just felt that the Moon's peacefulness suggested an afternoon siesta :)
i love looking at the moon. the mysterious vibe it brings excites me. thanks for your reply.
Insomnia? You too?
Joe
@joe.nobel
it happens :)
John this poem is the memory of a stormy night that will never return. Best regards
Thanks, Felix
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Nice poetry it touched my deep of the heart and blessed and encourage me a lot.
Wow. This is timeless but I am taken to France or the rennescance era. Joy
Thanks