Felt, but unseen…
Felt, but unseen. Once again the Striated beast moves beneath us, Looking for new angels To face down some demons of old. Withered knolls creep quietly And settle in fixed space, And we wonder why the galaxies roam And multiply so wantonly. Hear the song of the legend Who
Didn’t die, But whose passion transports us To newer and gladder tidings. It never occurred to us that We hitchhiked on their tails All this time.
Behold a summons to possibility And a calling to account of new thought, Of hands marked with perfectly aligned Veins of experience Clasped in prayer, trembling with delight As the eyes face down unpaved roads Lush with unbridled verdure
Punctuated by sinewy vines that crawl Slowly, marking out each inch with Perfection, love.
A posthumous love letter tumbles freely Amid an unsure wind, but hopeful. Time will surely read it, and in The cool of a reassuring Dawn, He will run impulsively until out of breath, Stopping besides a lowered branch To weep a little. And to smile. And live a little more.
Art: “All Things New” Karen Whitworth