The Calling
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enchanting in her way,
she beckons us to join.
kissed by doubts sweet whisper,
envisioning loss of certitude.
wandering, wandering, off;
precipice to precipice,
hungrily returning worried,
lest one day we lose our way.
caught in the vortex of our ache.
lost to the forest of rejoining.
life or death.
what you may think of it I do not know,
perpetual tug of war,
relinquished never firmly nor complete,
for fear of irreversible defeat.
yet the hunger burns,
the moth to candle’s flame returns.
it matters not the truths of which we know,
enchantment will in halves continue grow.
and she will beckon call to me
and I shall with reluctance go.
Copyright © Vernon Witmer | Year Posted 2021
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