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a title there, but no poem beneath
the world stares at it, as if waiting
for the words that belong there to appear
but the paper remains blank, stubbornly
refusing to respond to its mind
how could it know what would have been
but the world is ignorant of natures
thinking these objects as members of itself
maybe it would wait forever for the poem
but there is work to do--mountains made
or rivers born, or plains turned ocean
all part of the world's great plan
if only it knew what words had been
now lost, perhaps scattered in swirling clouds
the planet works as the poem vanishes into Alternity
Music and meditation produce some weird thoughts...
(There used to be a comments form here. However, having seen what I get when I make it easy to comment, that form has been indefinitely suspended. I can still be reached by email at <loonxtall@hotmail.com>. I apologize for any inconvenience.)
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Lakeside Park is maintained by C. Daelhousen <loonxtall@hotmail.com>