Poetry Forum

Somebody’s Child

Time carries them off one way or the other, they all go.
Some to make something of their chances, some to dances,
while you make believe, spinning tales of nothing.
Led to water, they sip, unconvinced.

Hearts beat, veins in a stringed instrument,
somebody’s child is dancing in the night.
Soon enough, every child’s a man, and every sigh a woman;
Psyche sees herself for the first time, mystified.

You can look, but you never really touch,
not really.

Things are getting very parental on here this evening. Or is that just me?

Really good stuff in here - Led to water, they sip, unconvinced, and veins in a stringed instrument.

I had to wiki Psyche, but I think I get it. And it works.

Not sure about your epilogue, swing, but a good job.

Cheers

David