Saturday, January 23, 2016

I can't begin to tell you

I can't begin to tell you

A peace symbol, a day-glo faded poster
tacked to the shed's raw interior wall,

thorns worming through the cracks;
baby food jar lids screwed

to the underside of a shelf:
rusted bolts, nails, screws,

gaskets and washers
someone once had faith

would one day fasten and secure
something of value, utility

like the bucket hanging from a winch,
pooled water in the well's bottom,

twisted by the breeze at rope's end.
Peace at last.  Peace at last.  Peace at last.

I get it wrong implying simple abandonment,
disuse, a quelling, thwarting but not quite,

and words are all I have
even as I have lost faith in words.

I can't begin to tell you, nor could you hear,
how misguided I've come to believe

are all our various quests
and human endeavors.

O child of God, you cry out for peace
while unwilling to walk the necessary path.


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