Wednesday, February 20, 2019

Something Without A Hint of String...or Through Crumbling Halls


As stunning as this star-maze is...
 ...today suddenly I had a craving to see wisps of wild grass brush the big blue beyond...





Within the mold of heave-and-hold, of oh, this-too-shall-pass
Are tucked whispers of moment-gold like stems of flowered grass
Where soft, the bliss of having held melds with the soulful sigh
That seems to come too soon like summer’s September good-bye

The best and worst of days are brushed away by the same hand
The boardwalk swept with snow once sported foot-shaped songs of sand
And all the winter weather loved or loathed by old or young
Melts like a silver snowflake sparkle on Time’s outstretched tongue

Something without a hint of string tugs hard on twilight’s hush
The sun slips like a drop of red paint from a half-poised brush
Then disappears, just like the years that fall away with ease
Until we find our youthful selves startled by creaky knees

…and the sudden awakening to things we once thought small
Where moments, cupped in ticks and tocks are big things After All
They form the tides that storm through crumbling halls of skin and bone
And teach us, by God's grace to humbly embrace grin and groan

© Janet Martin











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