.
.
.
I pray as Jew or Muslim
palms up, juggling unseen
airs of compassion, outrage,

empty offerings on the
broken scale of justice
(a jagged shard of a word).

Life, now mostly mizzen
in dwindling daylight.

Death, a dark weight, whelms.

A need to embrace it.

Left in the light;

A toddler's gay mosaic,
its puzzling combine,
too many missing pieces,

a youth of rocks and rips,
tapestry of rolling hills, sun,
no memory of warmth,

adolescence, its outward
search for passion's certainty
fades to bas-relief

and that virile age,
its alabaster statuary
now mere headless trunks,
roughened meershaum stumps,

a marriage, family,
mute photographs turned sepia,
tintypes rust as images
meld in cardboard unity.

I leave the light
not knowing what it was

and don the coarse burlap
of the mendicant,
hirple barefoot on
dimming diamonds
of the alligator, palm,

bete-noir the beggars
cap I clutch,
flat-lined lips seal the
thick body builder tongue,
a heart like a baloon
an unruly child stands on.

I join the dark
not knowing what it is
.
.
.
.
Painting- The Young Beggar, Bartolome Esteban Murillo c1650

[This message has been edited by RSWells (04-10-2003 06:55 PM).]

Here in the midst of my lonely abyss, a single joy I find...your presence in my mind.  Unknown

~Somewhere in my heart I'm always
dancing with you in the summer rain~

What Kethry said.

ALso, his is so good. That is an understatement of course. One of many masterpieces of the museum of your mind. Thank you for displaying here, your art, allowing us the pleasure of wandering at leisure. To come back again and again, because that is what it takes for me, each time finding more I hadn't noticed.

Enjoyed this greatly, Pat

..without surrender, be on good terms with all persons..
        "Desiderata"