By George Freek
AS THE HOURS SPEED BY
Time is as definite as death,
but life is more mysterious
than the depths of the sea.
When I look in a mirror,
I know I’m looking at me,
but I don’t recognise what I see.
I see a symbolic elegy.
Is my sleepy cat resting serenely?
I doubt it, but I can’t tell you
what his thoughts are.
Animals are often comfortable
avoiding humanity.
About time we’d likely disagree.
Embedded in nature,
while my cat sleeps peacefully,
time urges me to hurry
to get somewhere,
but I don’t know where,
and when I look for a reason,
sadly, one isn’t there.
Is it me or my cat,
or just life, that isn’t being fair?
MOURNING SONG
I sleep in my comfortable bed,
and dream I’m a cloud,
drifting over spring flowers,
then pain overwhelms me.
Last night, I saw things
as if I were looking at a distorted mirror.
Today my vision is clearer.
Daffodils sway in a calm breeze.
Are they beautiful or ugly?
They mean nothing to me.
I drink my coffee
with an aching head.
My tongue is in shreds.
I stare at this new day,
and want to return to my bed.
I don’t know where you are.
I only know you’re dead,
and you are very far away.
George Freek’s poetry has recently appeared in The Ottawa Arts Review, Acumen, The Lake, The Whimsical Poet, Triggerfish and Torrid Literature.
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