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Tenacity of Lace

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Musings # 66 Poem in POEM

HE HAD LONG SINCE GIVEN UP

 

In the earth’s spin and revolve –

no voice says now, no finger

points to the hands on a clock face,

no bell tolls the call to prayer.

 

Yet the sun’s slanted rays in autumn 

can startle a man out of his fugue,

blind him to past defeats,

 

cause him to weep –

for himself and for the beauty

of this forsaken world.

 

And so his despair has lifted, opened

to hope and possibility – the way

a receptive ear cocks toward

a bulb’s stir into shoot and bloom.

 

Not needing to know why,

I rest in the mystery, unsolved

and unknowable –

 

heart gladdened by the way

– in the unspoken dark –

the interior readies itself. 

 

 

 

 

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