contemporary poetry

be not false
when a deed is done for freedom
out of me unworthy and unknown
with the meek, brown eyes
in may
uplifting, as the wind blew
the darkness steals the forms of all the queens
to be able to see every side of every question
not from the whole wide world
somewhere i read a strange, old, rusty tale
music i heard with you was more than music
the mountains they are silent folk
when the hours of day are numbered