Cryptic Utterances Make a Foolish Kind Of Poetry

Cryptic utterances make a foolish kind of poetry
At the other side of the rose is a flower whose name we do not know-
Where the lights of love flicker the moonlight flickers also
Where we are in our lives and where we will be in our deaths
Are not the same song-
A man walks down a road and never comes home-
The cities on the hill are all filled with pioneering sadnesses-
Time and memory play out their losses without mercy-
All we are and all we know waits for us on the other side of a distant star-

Cryptic utterances make a foolish kind of poetry
And I in my laughter play a game with words
Until the silence like the waves of the sea
Covers us with miniscule grains unknown.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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