reality in repetition

A fire in the cotton field
purity turns to ash
nothing white is strong enough
all things good will pass
like a river, wishes go
to weathered sea from wistful snow
ignorance is all I know
but dimly, through a glass

Alas, my trade is done with words
and they have all been said
epiphanies are blown to rags
by time and bitterness
all to do is done, my love
and love is just a word, my love
and words are just charades, my love
or shadows, at their best

Trudging circles through a fog
man proves himself a fool
for all the lies in all the world
cannot make up one Truth
I grow too old to open doors
for dreams are lost and words are torn
and all that matters any more
is what I repeat after You

“Except the LORD shall build the house, they labour in vain that build it: except the LORD shall keep the city, the watchman waketh in vain.” Psalm 127:1

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One response

  1. If what is pure passes away,
    Then really,
    Was it pure?

    If all good bids finality,
    Then really,
    Was it good?

    No dear sister,
    These do not “pass,”
    They grow to greater things

    The pure grows to nobility
    The good to beloved memory

    It all depends,
    On the glass,
    Through which you choose to view it.

    As for the second verse,
    It turned my heart to hurt,
    To think your joy and smile,
    Should turn to bitter remorse.

    Take heart my friend!
    It’s not the end,
    Darkness is not your hue.

    The mark of true nobility,
    Is joy…
    Though life be cruel.

    But in the end you said the truth,
    And did so beautifully,
    All dreams, our words, the pure, and good
    Are really repetitions,

    Imitations of our Lord.

    September 2, 2012 at 10:19 pm

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