poems

Immortal Gent – They don’t make them like that any more.

They don’t make them like that anymore.

25/10/14

Imagine your dreams were held in a guitar at the end of the bed. Everything you’d become or not held in that one wooden symbolic dream.

Maybe you sleep whilst waking or wake whilst sleeping, either way the silent strings vibrate whilst the heart beats and beyond. They don’t make them like that anymore.

Making a move a string is plucked. A chord lifts itself from your soul waving into the distance, rippling forever eternal.

Or it doesn’t and life passes by continuous and devoid of inspiration which we analyse continually, confusing our lack of action with inaction and faking our thoughts into mobile beliefs.

remembering our stagnant ways we immortalise each motion. Drawing, painting, contemplating a refusal to hear their constant hating. A pain was grasped the straw did slip. Released in love with laughter’s quip.

They don’t make them like that anymore.

Another’s chords vibrate and lightning strikes across the world. No more questions. I’ll do what I am and I am what I do. You persist with the knowledge of independence and power. Fictitious self given gifts received in the name of time.

Love isn’t new. It’s the echo in the very drum of your guitar, unseen and ever present. They don’t make them like that anymore.

Gently we rise, rise and collide on the yearning, learning, challenging, twirling roller coaster that is life.

Eager to please we leave dents in the tract etched for others to see. They are but blips in comparison to the sparks we share which light the eyes of those we meet. They don’t make them like that anymore.

New horizons in a darker age, physically we alter but never quite change. Your vibration sings out like a fog horn at church. You’re both one of the best and a rebel at worse. They don’t make them like that anymore.

Tired antiquity a song of serendipity. An acorn in a sunlit field a craftsman on a slope. Born again a new design, a piano one does hope.

Each letter of the starting lines does read ImmortalGent the riddle’s in the anagram. The answer – Heaven sent.

Copyright G.P Williamson 2014

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