there is one I know
the one guilty
her hand comes lays tender
against my flesh
nerves prick and tingle
sensate,
weave all them sinews stitch
binds the all of me
kindles
ignites
sparks a flame
blazes in my loins
probes
penetrates
erupts
claws the deepest depths of Me.
Years
Though thirty years I’ve searched,
Seen my optimism battle tested
Yet sustains, a trifle doubted
Where might he be,
What is apt to be his plight?
His life fulfilled and so him gone,
Laid low ‘neath granite slab?
Or yet pursuing Truth
While bonds hold him not yet free?
So if perhaps this one last time
No matter where he may be
Pray he hears our joyful toast
Let us raise our mugs up high
“Happy Birthday Ronnie Murphy
Wherever you may trod or fly.”
Scribe
Time furrows a long wake.
Detour
I was advancing in age.
Then whimsy came afflicting.