― Wyatt B. Pringle, Jr.
When the Moon has gone to bed,
A sudden autum storm
Breaks out above my head.
The rain comes down
And lightning flares again,
And trees outside
Start boiling in the wind.
Then the house goes still
and the air goes dead,
And I hear your words
Echo in my head;
And I want to wake you up
Admit where I went wrong,
But excuses rise again
Like the refrain in a song.
It's useless to deny
The truth of your complaints,
And harder to comply
When it's so damn hard to change.
You, John, have a way of wresting comments out of me at times...
That's a good thing, please understand! Of course I mean that a line or two of your poetry has hit the nerve of one of my buried realities. In this case, the recognition of guilt overlaid by the awareness of my near-immutability...
Thank you, my friend!
😄😇😉
Immutability - takes me back to my theology days at The Pontifical Institute, lol - something I never attempted to even presume for myself, although I have detected it in others who are practically perfect in every way and imperfect only in the sense they chose me :)
Ah, but it is my failings that at times appear to me immutable! :(