Man Kind

I wish that I could write of men
But I’m disenchanted with our case
A sorry tale of disgrace
Built up behind a brutish face

So stubborn in our discontent,
Poeticism never meant,
Except for something to repent
Deemed foolish by some lost event

The lyric is a potent thing
But only if you let it ring
So conflictive with everything
With male hands I’ve seen it wringed

Yet in this sight, I do not cry –
We live, we think, we love, we die
While all the men I know don’t try
To grasp their heart, and wonder why

So in women I can see a place
Exotic, in its tranquil face
Where human beauty is embraced
With joyous passions not defaced

-Galwyn

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s