dpbowman

The posings of a poet.

Ill


I have been told, simply, Be Still
But I find that a tall order to fill
Clearly with practice I could learn this skill
But I’ve so many duties I need to fulfill
Will ever a formula flow from my quill
Or from a child could the answer spill
And if it did would I have the will
To follow the plan and peace distill
‘Twould be a battle, and all uphill
But the alternative is to grind the soul in a mill
And reconstitute it as bitterest pill
Most of us have settled thus and fit the bill
Of a poor sheep that’s unfit to kill
So we bleat on in voices ever so shrill
And yet this one hope I would instill
We, each of us, are wired with free will
Would we but choose to cross o’er the sill
Life would our hearts and souls e’er refill
If we but choose to take time and Be Still
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3 thoughts on “Ill

  1. A fine poem to enjoy with my morning coffee…had me smiling.

  2. So true. As we are more and more connected and with the world becoming noisier, peace and quiet are rare indeed – and much needed. Nice writing!

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