never wanting to be defeated

so I rise with war cries and puzzling words

and I won't be stopped or grounded

I am cloaked with sun-drenched wings of birds

mostly leaving them dumfounded

 

They say I never stick around

with anything for long

they think it's 'cause I've never found

that mythical perfect song

they say, "Look at your love and sharing time"

they say, "Look at your fireworks in bed"

but why do I sense some sort of crime

when so much is left unsaid?

 

This quandary is an old one

I stand between two things

one beckons with so much still undone

and one seems to clip my wings

well

there are questions at every corner

there's this wandering I was born with

I dream of climates that are warmer

on a horizon of truth and myth

 

And they say I never stick around

with anything for long

they think it's 'cause I've never found

that mythical perfect song 

they yell, "Look at your love and your sharing time"

they yell, "Look at your fireworks in bed!"

but why do I sense some sort of crime

when so much is left unsaid?

sometimes so much is left unsaid

so much is left

unsaid

  

 

So Much is Left Unsaid

 

Once again I am drawn away

from most of what surrounds me

thinking no one

no one anywhere can stray

upon this path that calls me

then I laugh at all this childishness

wondering why I act this way

caught in this thing I call "creativeness"

and questioning truth 

while trying to be brave

 

In lofty words that could be simple

I have oh so many times retreated

shouting

"Onward!  Onward!  Don't be crippled!"

  

Gerald Nicholas Simpson.  All rights reserved.