Wish's Poem by james watkin
Wish's
We are all places, barring
That one locality
Fulfilment- ripe, upreaching
Wish's sunned; and lazy.
The soul of disenchantment;
And the bane of us all!
Haunted, from o'er the next hill
By its lone-sounding call.
Who is the phantom, but lives
His own true self not in!
For what's forced on its esteem
In facade's seen-through grin.
Sunday, April 21, 2019
Topic(s) of this poem: wish
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8/13/2025 7:12:02 PM # 1.0.0
