MeanwhileA Poem by Charles Person
The uncertainties of stone supporting the feet
That raise the body that has hands That count the failures until it runs out of fingers that have nails When this body lays down, The body that lies witless in bed, It could be dead Yes, it could. But it wakes up and breathes As the starting point of everything that will be delayed And then aborted and then forgotten Those things that should be an easy success. There is no trick up his sleeve. There are no sleeves to roll up. There is no God, for this man. But maybe somewhere there is a god hiding his face behind his hands, deeply ashamed of what he had come up with. © 2013 Charles PersonAuthor's Note
Reviews
|
Stats
115 Views
1 Review Added on October 29, 2013 Last Updated on October 29, 2013 |

Flag Writing