Thursday, October 20, 2016

Always on the Fringe...

 Autumn grandstands wave wildly while waning hillside Hurrahs
Already winds of change are draining its gaudy applause


The aptitude and fortitude and solitude of Past
Is like a landscape after summer’s blooming cape is cast
Aside; the tide of tick and tock, with unrelenting force
Dominates earth and all therein subject to its discourse

…and nothing can evade the Thing that seasons Seasons, oh,
The Past is like an echo-land brindled with letting go
Where we are ever on the fringe of it but never There
Though always moments in our grip slip to its thoroughfare

…while we grapple to learn to love what Present deems our lot
Then twilight takes and tenders to the trove of Afterthought
And we, betrothed it seems, to Becoming, cannot afford
To stand too long and gaze at vistas that once we adored

…or else we miss The Very Thing that waits to splash its ilk
In gray and gold upon the ether Hold of molded silk
Where aptitude and fortitude and solitude of Yore
Is always on the fringe of what we touch and where we are

© Janet Martin

 Here are the thoughts leading up to Anne's summation...

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