Once, the scales of do and don’t were known not equal,
could between the two distinguish.
Then counterbalance, selfish rush
and life no longer simple.

Seems some took the fruit, killed kind tree
to count its inner symbol;
parts not being wholes, danger loomed.
Entire lives stayed as at a signal.

Shall now I, this remove, entering the angle of evening’s stare,
cross myself in wish and prayer
and like to discovery in a poem’s plan
much love find there,

as all would wake and gleam cashes,
stayed by practical, selfish hands,
un-learned in love, exulting the narrow, erring mind?
Seems it wants to! And comes with a buyer’s guide.

So, if here I linger stulted, near blind
among the pulled flowers, broken rock,
does that mean mean-men were right
Life’s a journey ready for mock?

By grace of life I smile as rivals meet their mend.
Blessed is he that lends like brook, allowing Life its wend.

© Copyright 11-23-2019 – 05-2020 Joseph Duvernay.