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rising
we rise
although gravity and time
may hold us in the cupping
of their hands
we rise in a plethora of dreams
escaping above the vents
of circumstance
we rise into the tent
of all embracing;
and as if, and but, and still
we rise into each contemplation
new as the reckoning
of togetherness
draws us to the breath
of our existence;
rising, always rising
to meet the air of every day
to stay through every
active play and to meet
what will become.
the beauty of this world so much,
that I must blink with astonishment
to hold back tears.
If I could not blink I fear,
sixty per cent of who I am,
would leave me, in abject eagerness,
to kiss the earth.
Copyright ©
Vernon Witmer
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