journey on a freight train

I let the chance slip right past.
I never seized the opportunity.
Did I think this fire had impunity
from the fact that all flames burn out?

And they did,
in fact, it’s been quite long
since the embers have all been gone
and the wind carried away the ashes.
I let it die, thus my greatest regret.

the death of soundwaves

Sometimes I let out blatant whispers
And I hope that you will hear
But my futile murmurs
Never seem to reach your ear

Banter

I measure the extent of my thoughts and emotions.
The measurements are to abstract to be expressed
in figures, words, anything to bind them,
to chain them down, to hold their wings.
They cannot be detained, they fly freely.

Try to understand the meaning.
What if there is no meaning?
What if there appears to be no meaning,
but there really is one?
What if the meaning is hidden,
as it usually is, beneath countess
metaphors and similes?
Really, is this necessary?
Is poetry not as good if it speaks directly?
I sometimes find it irritating, to put it mildly,
that poets write such worthless, beautiful, poetic banter.
But I’m a poet, or think I’m a poet,
and I also banter.
But, what is the meaning?
Perhaps, there is none,
just… banter.