Poetry

On

Forward forces tarnish as they spill
And slide, they trundle on.  In every way
The only crucial thing is not to stay
The same.  Necessity demands a fall
Or rise, or chop or change in full or short.
Rushing alone to get to where you go,
A lack of focus, lack of will to slow.
A young rose, the first of new spring – not bought,
But kept intact.  On top, a bee has wit
Enough to pause.  It sits alone and well,
Then goes home. Theories force and ideas swell
Out.  Two feet traversing the train of thought
Move firmly forwards.  Right then left then right
They surge until they flatten it from sight.

Matt Ireland