Unminted Gold

1.
A chest of mortised-tenoned oak, left long
Unopened, banded, strong--
What could it hold? What treasures?
Some rare sequestered wealth of wished-for pleasures?
Or
does it harbor dire, malignant measures
To weight the sinking soul,
Or best-forgotten pasts in scroll on scroll?
 
2.
Locked in some mental basement unassessed
May dwell a poet`s best.
Unwritten, there it lies.
No hearers` ears, no readers` eager eyes,
No poet peers can ever recognize
A masterpiece of art
However great, locked in the poet`s heart.
 
3.
My chisel rents the hasp. I have no key.
The chest of memory
Lies open to my gaze.
I view with awe the relics of my days
And years. I view some through a tearful haze:
With anguish I recall
Bereavement. Solemn silence casts its pall.
 
4.
Here now a glance at memory`s golden age--
A light romantic stage,
When love bloomed like a flower,
Entranced a soul with its ecstatic power.
Those years recalled entrance me in this hour.
That opened chest unveiled
The worst and best that love and life entailed.
 
5.
Scrimmed scenes of past years viewed in dim tableau
On mind`s stage vaguely show
What I`d put here in writing
Of nights redreamed, dawns of regret, the fighting
Of surging tides of headlong dares; the righting
Of long-lamented wrongs,
Then raptures I must make the stuff of songs.

6.
Reverse tick-tocking time. Turn back the hands:
An infant understands!
Two years I`d lived. But why
Did Doctor D. tell Mama I could die?
My cough of blood and pus made Mama cry.
That doctor struggled hours.
I breathed, now live, thanks to his saintly powers.
 
7.
Careers? Two held an early short allure.
Two others did endure.
One took a life-long hold.
I acted, sang, I photographed, I sold.
I taught and coached until some thought me old.
In age, I set my sight
Firm-fixed on this: A new career. I write.
 
8.
Themes, counter-themes, fugues, rondos, shifts of key--
I`ve lived life`s symphony.
A trombone`s strident blare,
Tympanic rumbles, singing strings enrich the air;
This dance, that dirge, this march with grand fanfare
Bring on a thought-parade
That cannot end till life`s last movement`s played.