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.
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.
No comments:
Post a Comment