Plato's Door

Dim is the day,

No words to say.. 

Bumps, bends

, Fences to mend.

On ..

in-ter—-midable

 motor .. way,

All I am..(the sum total of parts)

Measured ....in miles

With:m

A dull ache...

How long will this journey... take?

Now blind...

wretched..

 with mired mind,

Can’t see... birds..

come and go.

But,  they..rest.. sometimes..

I know...

In thatched basket and leafy throne, 

Poised..

A hop away..

To aimless air.. and lofty flight,

With wings to find..

Peace of mind.

Out ..Out!.....of Plato’s sight,

He hides behind,

Locked door,

Should they..

Winged creatures ,

knock on my door, 

No .. more!

Mad in your muses,

Will not enter.. my house today !

Without gift..

Of techne!

But Ahhh.. I say,

Dark, adverse fellow..

Nothing I can see ....in you,

But the trap of history...

Miles ..from honest heart..

Pumping blood..

Through channels of mud.

Alas..,(phew!)

The journey ends,

When birds ascend,.....

Eros plays lyre,

And they ...sing,

In dawn choir.

Creative cloud,

Envelopes.. wholesome truth,

Mad musing,

Makes..:

Artful imitation grow..

On ground below..

Comes..

New day..

When birds pray,

On,..

Inter- midable..

Motorway.

Brian Charles Donnelly 2018/19 December/Jan/Feb.