Words Ripened

Mute Contemplation

The truth so clear
with words we shear
down to a barren crop

The facts arrayed
are bleak they say
Life surely comes to naught

In narrow pride
man does decide
the world, his mind can pin

The only fact
forsook with tact
the world, his mind is in

Approach therefore
the animate score
with laud, abreast each form

We may be taught
when every thought
is free from deadly scorn

So on this day
from life’s bouquet
shed not the merest quarks

The truth of a whole
is never so low
as to be the sum of its parts

Spellbound

Four friends in all
we loped among the cliffs

Marveling
our every step
at bones within the mist

Yet bones of such a kind
no creature bore in breast

The pylons of a goddess
there loomed in primal rest

Atop those bones, we sat enthroned
our peace without compare

The very girth of Mother Earth
held us spellbound there

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