Rate this poem Sending User Review 4.3 ( 10 votes)

The disquieting man

written by: Lance Sheridan

@PlaitedPoems

Mother, what ill breeding of me

Or what disfigured my life unsightly

Poor did I go unwisely kept?

Unasked of my church christening,

That a priest sent black and white

Dressed women with nodding heads

And bilious eyes, to cast me to a street.

A fate properly sealed, a promise

Seasoned to poverty, a vow stamped

With threadbare scruples? Perhaps.

I may never be immaculately clean, I

But hold my soul erect. I will wear my

Deeds behind tattered clothing; sharp

Is my mind- a voice to arise from the

Dankness. At a yes, to write without

Fame- on a journey that I may tease

Out thoughts from an aging mind, to

Navigate words with callous fingers;

But never to grovel a fee from the

Buffoonery of others, nor seek a

Reputation on a poem; to my own

Heart say, be satisfied with my

Unmistakable self, to walk in my way

Alone, free in the occasion to speak,

To proclaim my spirit and imagination;

So, if by chance, I win in some triumph,

I will render no share on cloistered steps.

I stand, not high it may be, but alone.

Copyright © lance sheridan®