Refections : incoherent poems by Steven Mullaney CopyRight of RandomBoo.com
Dedicated to my mother
Love cowards like a petering fire,
a broken wine glass on the grass,
riddled in the heart still screams in desire,
from pulsating clocks of times pass.
The outcast of past, the misfit of present,
the ever worrying of pace,
in the ever suspicious mind of intent,
to invent, to face, the never ending race.
Forgotten soul, lost of goal,
like the greatest train absent of coal,
The unnoticed flower in the early spring
others too busy to notice it sing.
A forever unknown talent,
forever a secret to never unfold,
The greatest mother that one could wish for,
In the greatest story that will never be told..