Fascination on a Fulcrum
There is an obsession
with broken things
found on bridges with
the scattered pieces
of good intentions.
Indeed, there are many
fragments
of evil perpetration
too.
Perhaps, a bit more -
if one is completely open.
And, in this enchantment
of gathering life’s
futile steps and
stumbles - taken along the path
to the stone church
(where the stain glass wares),
the value is so much
in question
at the end of the
sun’s pivot upon the horizon’s ledge.
For in each step over
and across the rare collections
of the daunting
detritus – are found untold stories.
The rabbit, in the
hole, knows the tale
And in a surreal sense,
the seeker is found too,
in the wheels and windows
Of his mind – (the
walker, I mean) – understand?
Yes? Good, for he has no touch with reality.
As he collects the
pieces to make the windows of stains.
Formed from the pieces,
the elements and lead
that was molded in
the crucibles of trial and tribulations!
Why would he do such a
thing that
is impermanent?
Because the sun will
rise
the light will find
the frame
and it must be done.
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