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Knowledge (Edited)

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  • Knowledge (Edited)


    Nothing is known
    Say the jagged rocks contemptuous
    Of being asked this opinion

    As I walk along the
    Shoreline of Lake Ontario near home
    I pick up a small oval stone

    Whose smoothness surely reflects
    Aeons of sculpting by waves
    It also remains silent

    I stop for a moment to think
    We are all descended
    From the first communities of cells

    Whose congregations
    Tirelessly built the walls
    Of their churches to keep danger out

    So that I an old man
    With little faith
    In the fundamental order of things

    Might pause for a moment
    To bow down to mystery
    And bathe in the profound silence









    Last edited by Tanner; 04-29-2018, 12:59 PM.

  • #2
    I think you slight yourself, or is that humility/meekness? I would say it takes faith just to be here, and survive to become 'an old man'. Much like the rocks, which is what your poetry says to me here.

    Take care~ be well.

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    • #3
      AmenOra, as always, your wisdom and comments provide encouragement and life enhancing sustenance, as well as motivation to continue to explore the mystery in which we dwell via the poetic process, often amidst too many "flat earth" denizens.

      Comment


      • #4
        I like this for the picture it draws.
        It's not necessary to have
        even a little faith
        to appreciate it,
        believe me.

        Comment


        • #5
          The connections are what get me here. The surest way to kill something, enclose it. Keep opening up!

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