A Day That Ends In Night
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We Look For Holy Moments,
And In Looking, Overlook
Moments Blessed And
Filled With Things
From Mountains We Once Shook.
Small Events Unfolding,
Each One Smaller, Briefer Still.
As Cavernous Creases
We Call Brains,
Migrations Fill.
Spark-lit Seconds
Speak For Us
While Destiny Darkens Past.
Pointing And Branched
With Lightning Flare
To Futures Guided, Where
We May Draw Away
Or Follow Our Natural Inclination
Through Your Waveless Spray.
Shotgunning Every Now
Somehow;
To Cast
Bigger Pictures,
Brighter Futures,
Holy Moments Blended,
Bending To Form
Crooked Sutures.
Aye,
Care Not Weary One
Traveler And Father To All.
Mind’s Eye Behemoth,
Where In Grains
As In Pearls
Do You Lie;
Barbaric And Windswept,
Dressed
In White Collared Time,
Grafted And Stylized;
With
Only Your
Teacups Remaining.
Your Grin, No Repast,
Discomforts All.
Bears The Stain,
Of The Holy Moments Gain.
Slanted Slivers
Of Hanging Pictures,
A Youth With Glasses Scanning
Hills Of Gifted Summer’s Passion,
Pages Each In Need Of Fanning.
Now,
With Hallowed And Bellowed Tear,
You Will Steer
Amongst Those Mighty
Many Memories
Of Futures Past.
This You Give Us,
Single Sight.
The Now Of Every Thought To Last:
A Day That Ends In Night
Copyright © Vernon Witmer | Year Posted 2021
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