voices, poem

October 20, 2008 at 8:45 pm Leave a comment

The Hierophant

We’ve waited hours

in this dusky, dusty place.

Anger and fear

are mixed in our breasts

as we wait on,

kneeling, heads bowed. (Perhaps

the blindness

is hardest to bear. I think

I’ve memorized

this cracked patch

of floor.)

Or perhaps

these hours

have been my life.

As I wait

for meaning.



Entry filed under: poetry. Tags: , .

Palin, or excuse to lobotomize daily post (if none else)

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