Tale Collector

A look at a poet.


Tale Collector.

It's happened again.
a summer has been
squandered away without
even the mention of May.
Another wasteful tide,
Cast carelessly aside
simple counting away
of beauty-sewn day
draped in mornings
mourning grays.
Had I been but
a different Fool!
I would singe my
hands on far Bright Stars.
Or taken for granted
every ticking hour
Make way for
Ever After.
Or a lone ship
captain, his crew
since abandoned at
first sights swirling
disaster.
One would shout,
Lo' Ozymandias
how tiny you truly
be!
Crumbled face of
withered fate.
Ah, but only fantasy;
great feats of the
meager.
Instead of hero,
the eternal story
weaver.
A lost tale
Seeker.
The dark-clad heart
Dreamer.