Yashim George Poems

Is there a thing as perfect to find,
a perfect proud thing?
I, have failed to find
I grind the grains of reasoning
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Verse One
I wish "sad queen" are not the little words that silence swing to me. I wear her pretty robe that day, and every day I turn around from the sprint of day to the quiet of night to be entertained by dreams and melancholy, sweet melancholy…
The words become the only thing that empties me, for I am full of this world. There she goes, could hear them say; the Madame's niece; "all things with her are at peace". They so often refer me sacred; the golden leaf on the tallest tree on the tallest mountain… birth has climbed her up with ease.
I am preserved by gods who have educated me well. They have spurned my youth into a mind of lustrous dearings for class, avarice and admiration.
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