Prose Header

They Dare Call It Folly?

by Bob Church

Thy soul’s a mirror unto my own,
brilliant flashes dually felt,
cast gazing into spirit’s light
identifies where our love dwelt.

Signals carried into night,
dying not for lack of flesh,
bolstered there by mind’s sweet sight,
hearts united, breathing fresh.

Pity not thy misered fate
supposed by those who know us least;
I mock their lack of style and grace
and join thee for our passioned feast.

Just rewards for insight gained,
not often spent in times of good,
are savored memories, thus retained,
released unconscious, as we would.

Trust not convention as displayed
by those whose bidding might contrive
to bid thee shameful or dismayed,
to wish thee dead while still alive.

Cast thy spirit bravely set
against all those who would deny;
resolutely keep thy faith
with whom your destiny relies.

Copyright © 2006 by Bob Church

Home Page