Somewhere Between Star Dust
Some where between star dust
And fissioned syllables
Our moonstruck lives gazed at
No more, context in un-utterables
Becomes the strangers at the door.
We have lost crown and glory
To thresh dictionaries for honor
Imbedded in us before.
I ponder the meaning of all I am
Hand crafted mountain
Sculptured portrait drawn on light
Ransomed by the tongueless lamb
The word becoming dust
Stored in a mound
Of silent churchyard.
O to hear the word again
It is very good
Without sentence and sentience
Among the singing of the stars
I who was deaf in the beginning
Gazed at in praise again
Where memory is desolate and there is no pain.
Copyright © David Smalling | Year Posted 2012
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