Not Our Own

The day is ours, especially the light.

Words are fleeting, but not the plaguing fight.

Bees do not venture far from hives.

Candles multiply in remittent lives.

We each cling to a mysterious song.

Bow unwillingly to a barbarous bong.

Ghosts dance spryly in grey solitude.

Removing the cloaks of a sanguine feud.

Like a bold tide, we are drawn amiss.

Healing comes, in the form of a kiss.

Prime example of flesh on a cross.

Never quite knowing who is the boss.

Discomfort haunts a future prone.

And so, our lives are ...

... not our own ...

Reviews

[Tony Jordan]

Like candles, we give off light for a finite period then we are no more. Our light can mean more to one than another depending on how dark their surroundings.

Your word choice and employ is impeccable here Pete.

I read 'never quite knowing (owning) who is the boss'

[Pete]

thank you. :)

[ROXANE DORSEY]

people can cast the brightest light when the spirit's right. thanks for the wonderful poem.

[Pete]

thank you. your thoughts are greatly appreciated.

[emmajoy]

Life is designed for each of us, we're predestined to be this or that way? Perhaps. Your words are old style, real meaning.. asking and giving questions side by side. A sharing heart wrote these words, a moral: know who you are and who guides your actions and thoughts. Perhaps?

[Pete]

wonderful comments clearly from a caring heart. you "get it" & it is appreciated ...