THAT OLD PAST

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I miss a lot I never saw,
Its still aloft yet old as raw.
I missed much I still can hear,
All that such still remains here.

I miss old ways in past years,
Those old nays and crude yeas.
I crave for the meal I never ate;
Yearn so much for a feel I never met.

I miss soft tapping finger tips,
Strapped swinging held swaying hips,
Swishing feet on glittering marbled floors,
Flowing gowns, paired feet in coupled fours.

I miss good music guided by tiny sticks,
Quiet audiences in silent peace that reeks.
And when they dance, its like a mute hymn,
Tapping away on hard soles, following a rhythm.

I miss husky sleepy humming lullabies,
With honest night stories full of nice lies.
I miss trained hands on black and white ivory keys,
And the sweet old past would ever numb all knees.

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LUCK SUCKS

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“Well,” they ever said indifferently,
“You can’t eat your cake and have it.”
‘Bug off!’ I puff out most angrily,
‘You happen to do so every minute.’

“Ah! But it is so, my mate and son,”
They grin with eyes all a sly glint.
“We can all have the same bait on,
Yet I catch and you are still skint.”

‘Never alive?’ I wonder not so loud.
‘Like déjà vu?’ And I’m yet helpful.
“Where many danced your dance proud,
You will be jeered and hailed a fistful.”

‘Is it me then, and my own luck?
Need I add fate, destiny’s slut?’
“We agree to prove only to mock.”
‘Then I’ll set bait and eat my lot.’

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