soliloquy
o pray …
should count we all the phrases fought
there is not time with conscious thought
sieved, all those hearts that poets wrought …
and when their breaths come laid to bed
sweet then those dreams are softly bled
souls lost thru time and stained to red …
oh …
how dear praise giv’n midst life … instead.
Copyright © 2025 Gregory Richard Barden
( photographic art of yours truly created copyright-free by the poet with Prism/Lightroom software )
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