Standing at the Rusted GateA Poem by Ken e BujoldAt dusk, shadows reign. The sun like a spent gimp hobbling from
the day’s fields across the pebbled taupe of an
implacable shore no longer capable of holding
back the dark thoughts of impermanence -- the ineluctability of waves
tugging a soul out to sea, into the inky
depths of time’s subaqueous vault. I imagine Borges, or on rarer occasions reach for
Milton, for inspiration, some flicker of
how one might navigate the inevitability
of inherited pupils winking back
to black, dissolving a god-granted sense to atomicity of a molecular
malfeasance. And why, in view of all that remains
as yet unread, I will succumb
before the will succumbs -- like a tree or half-formed cloud -- to the
unfathomableness of a recalcitrant star’s resistance
to light a way to the blank verse of a
universe rubs me raw, seems all the proof one needs in answer to the question: is there any unifying principle to
this existence? Ken e Bujold © 2024 Ken e BujoldReviews
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9 Reviews Added on January 21, 2024 Last Updated on January 21, 2024 AuthorKen e BujoldSomewhere in Ontario, CanadaAboutWriters write, it's what we do. Fish swim, woodpeckers peck... writers scribble (inside and outside the lines). more..Writing
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