I, Rebel
A Poem; Selection I, Of The Curation
I, a rebel of no renown
Offspring of a roll of dice
In a back-alley where time was short
And ecstasy trumped the sound
Of the bell tower that rang in the church
A rebel who would never wear the scars
Of a hangman’s noose nor the white pallor
Of a man imprisoned behind stone walls –
White knuckled fingers gripping steel bars
A maverick – unbranded in life out of
Sheer determination to remain free –
I gathered words by the handful
As if they were diamonds placing them
In the many pockets of my mind
Regarding the eloquence of poetry
As man’s highest cultural endeavor
A spirited wanderer adrift under the stars
A Cyrano de Bergerac lost in a world
As strange to me as am I to it
One who had found his ‘Roxanne’
And wishing only to show my love
Had nothing to offer her but –
A pocketful of shimmering words
The Curation; Write For Our Publication:
The Fine Writer Of This Piece:
Another Piece by Gary Orphey — Don’t Ask Me About Love; Poem:
The Curation’s Newsletter:
May the day beam Solarity upon You — dear Reader.
