Fingers of the Watchman
©01-21-23, Olan L. Smith
Hear the cries of victory fall short upon the shores,
Within and without we dredge up the crud
Of yesterdays departed, and hope for lang syne,
While we slight today, the now we own.
Yet, who holds defeat in their heart to reap
The sins of tomorrow? Come―rejoice, now
Has begun for mastery. Hold the
Reins of resentment until time is nigh.
Don't forecast doom into the aisles of now,
And wallow in your regret of yet to come.
In darkness of days stand up, rejoice, you
Are alive! Wallow in pig sties when the muck
Is casted upon your house, and not before.
Live, rejoice, become the hope of your home,
Not the lamp whose flame if snuffed out
By the fingers of the watchman.
YOU ARE READING
Poems from the Quill, by Olan L. Smith
Poetry"Poems from the Quill" is where I place current works that don't fall into other collections. It is here you will find obscure poems that range from constraint to free-verse. I began this collection as a contest entry, years ago, for what was then t...
