Now I'm beginning to know
Your considered dark,
The contradictions in your work-
The wasted words you threw

At fools, who were always looking
For a mirror to reveal
Themselves: until they only revile
You for disliking, not for liking

The sweet birds , the peasanted hills,
The silences that your God left
In the mind's uneasy loft
That housed their heavens and their hells.


Peter Thabit Jones © 2016

Published in THE LIZARD CATCHERS by Peter Thabit Jones, 2006