literature

Without

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Literature Text

A precious gift
is life -
bitter pain
and struggling
strife -
a bell
without
a gong
in the valley
with it's
sweetly
frightening
forgotten
song...
And still,
we walk
the red,
spattered
earth -
sinking and
searching
since
our fragile
birth -
many
reaching,
most
beseeching
a god
without
strength
or power
hurls us
to that
final hour -
to hold us
forsaken
in his
nebulous
arms -
And we fall...


A girl
without
a face
will leave
no trace
that she
has ever
walked
here...
so near
to the
edge
of things,
counting
the deceptive
blessings
that nature
brings...
poem from the early morning hours
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