It is not untrue to now say,
how I have made my own way
across every single distant sea,
on this course to unfind me.
A sacred quest here, alone,
as if now meant to atone
for the sins that I committed,
since all the receipts are remitted.
Sitting up here on the roof,
I look down upon the proof
that again makes my case,
while I once more then give chase.
After that ever‑quaint idea
that my life is but a galleria—
all these sad poems shown,
with all this misery I have known.
So, I get up from my comfy chair,
put on an air of devil‑may‑care,
strut right up to the very brink,
prepare to spill my unspilt ink








Yeah! Spill that unspilt ink! Spill it all over the page no matter the theme or topic of the piece. Always a beautiful write from you, S.
Daniel
Get up …. Please please get up
Powerfully penned, LDF. Very deep write my friend. Appreciate you.
Damian
Yes! That last stanza, so powerful.