What Will

This is an older poem from a series I did way back in 2003-04 called the "Smith Poems", about events surrounding the life of one of my very good friends. I've come a long way as a poet, and rarely rhyme anymore, but it's always great to see the origins of artistry that eventually made me into the writer I am today...

Michael Smith,
A long night’s restless day,
Intertwining morning sun and moon,
And ready to make his way.

Sometimes refusal
   To the awakening night,
In order for slumber to show its might,
No sullen days will be his plight.

Sometimes acceptance,
And the night begins,
A lack of sane thoughts,
Muddles in friends.

But had he refused
   Her call (In the midst of a sunning land),
Her body with his should be lost,
No dancing hand in hand.

His eyes too must surely cringe
   At the thought that chance could have taken sight,
A moustache’d avenger,
Seen that night.

Sleep still begs this boy to come
   And find his place to things well missed,
Such things in rooms
   As a misplaced kiss.

Michael Smith,
A question lingers still,
This next night’s chance or peril,
I beg you, Sir, what will?

11.28.2002