Colin F. Jones


As one to God retreats when lame or hurt
I, to my verse, in agony retreat
That from my back I tear offensive shirt
And cast restrictive shoes from severed feet.
Nowhere to run, no wondrous promised aid;
No satisfaction from a pleading prayer,
Yet in my verse I make foul memories fade
To give my wounds a chance of self repair.
Wherefrom do laws emerge and better thought
And all our cures and ills if not the mind?
For there, tomorrow’s agonies are caught
That only deeper thoughts can ever find.
I look to this for it has worked for me,
But only those who know will ere agree