Here’s my draft for Sunday 04.21.19.
Up Ahead
He had come and looked at it. Into it. Bored
to the heart’s core of it. Tried, again
and again to mend the colored ruin of the world
the filament rainbow no more seen in a waterfall
the wail of black and white dying sunset
the no more budding green of a withered tree
the raw smoke of the ambitious twisting the air
the raised cloaks of the prosperous, walls against mercy
his coming here no more auspicious
than the onset of blinded sight
set ravage upon our unquiet dreams
And when he saw, reaching out
to even the most foreign lands upon the wind and water
so finally witnessed nothing more of hope
grieving at the path he looked away, and up
and disappeared before the women
mourning far beyond understanding
him coming to
his feet again, behind a fixed plan
of flight from the lost and many
one day maybe asking the question
to be found again
I like the rhythm to this lovely poem you wrote! 💕
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Mahalo, Tamara, for reading.
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