Wednesday, November 11, 2009

607. MEDITATING UPON THE DIVINE

MEDITATING UPON
THE DIVINE
Your grand semblance of irony disrupts.
Now we skim with nothing, now we are
mired in mud. Not in knowing which way
to turn am I spent - time lost is time not
returned. A grand and sporting mind such
as yours needs make sure that nothing gets
lost - your fungoes with the fielder, your
incessant yo-yo of the inner heart. If I saw
you standing outside, alone, or even wrapped
in flames, wherefrom would I know you?
Your semblance of irony would distract me,
right from the start. Yet, as you say, 'no
hope goes forgotten' before you slip away,
I watch and listen and nod. Or was it
'no help goes forgotten' ? either way,
you say, being like a God.

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