Confessions of a fool

I believed in flower-power (the triumph of the meek)
The thought that what a wind could bend was not to be
Derided for its weakness but known to draw its calm
From a corporate sense of self (its many-ed history)
That tyranny (in the long blow) lacked the will to break

That heaped-up suffering gave to sufferers a balm
And through such evolution (such dog-eared mystery)
There would grow an end to the strong is right mystique
And that ordinariness unarmed (however weak its knee)
Could hymn its own upstanding (as honoured as a psalm)

I believed in flower-power (the triumph of the meek)
Though evidence was mocking (less song than threnody)
I savoured the impossible without a qualm

And sought to make it practical – to bed worn earth
With a seed that tried to answer those dire conundrums
(making of every longed-for scene a landscape bleak)
To bring exciting prospects to a life of humdrums
Reveal the spirit-ordinary in its dancing worth

Yet the visions my dreams gave voice to failed to speak
They fell foul (inevitably) of panjamdrums
But even amongst those who grasped a notion of their girth
Not one could get the fullest beatings of these sun-drums
The simple clarity the dreams had turned opaque

And after thirty years (too frayed to fight such dearth)
Who should know better (so much beaten by life’s tantrums)
I believe in flower-power (the triumph of the meek)

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Confessions of a fool