Berth
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we tremble …
or we don’t
night wears a net of stars
or a brume canopy
but in beamy blue or ink
it is only the mystery we fear
the dim trepidation
but a mask.
we are all bound -
from first thrum our
courses are set
and naught but ours, solely
that trek, our dearest allowance
yet only one harbor calls
one anchorage, just
a realm of limitless patience and price
an enigma, amaranthine
where the choice has been made
for all of us.
we call it’s name
with screams … or whispers
and we tremble …
or we don’t.
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden, June 3, 2023
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden | Year Posted 2023
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