Poem 34
From the anthology, Voices From Mt. Olive Cemetery, a work in progress.
Elmo Strain 1917 (one day) On the cusp Of deliberate morning, I saw the mysterious light. I saw the grace of one day. It was but a momentary specter. And I was rich for an hour! It held me in its warm essences, It dangled me for one flashing hot day. One single day of human heartbeats. Please spare me your sad tales, Of times wasted and loves lost, Of missed opportunities and decisions postponed, Thinking it would never end. As with you all, I took for granted The ticking tryranny of Old Cronus. It’s okay mother. You can let go now. No tears. No tears.
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