Separation of Matter

I pray that the life of this spring and summer may ever lie fair in my memory. - Thoreau

a bipolar tide advanced and retreated like the motions of an indecisive accordion player

the sharp edge of a bleached, epileptic sea foamed as it convulsed against ancient formations

i stood on a reaching clifftop under a dreary umbrella of overcast

a song strumming in my doubting head

a chorus of angels erasing my stubborn, unrelenting dread

clinging to the familiar territory of weary, tongue-tied prayer

where i left a forgotten piece of my tattered soul

'tis all i had left in a a barren world

as i sipped lonely, solitary truth from a bottomless chalice

thank heaven for the gifted, ribboned breath of a virgin, unwrapped day

bless creation there's yet another obscure way

thank god that a fleeting piece of eternity danced

as a stuttering recitation of faith entrenched itself

forever deciding to stay

Author's Note

“I delight to come to my bearings,—not walk in procession with pomp and parade, in a conspicuous place, but to walk even with the Builder of the universe, if I may,—not to live in this restless, nervous, bustling, trivial Nineteenth Century, but stand or sit thoughtfully while it goes by. What are men celebrating? They are all on a committee of arrangements, and hourly expect a speech from somebody. God is only the president of the day, and Webster is his orator. I love to weigh, to settle, to gravitate toward that which most strongly and rightfully attracts me;—not hang by the beam of the scale and try to weigh less,—not suppose a case, but take the case that is.” - Thoreau