Saturday, April 14, 2012

Found Poem

For a moment,
everything was clear,
and when that happens
you see that the world
is barely
at all.

Don't we all secretly know this?

It's a perfectly balanced mechanism
of shouts and echoes

pretending to be wheels and cogs,

a dreamclock
chiming beneath a mystery-glass we call life.

Behind it?
Below it and around it?
Chaos, storms.
Men with hammers,
men with knives,
men with guns.
Women who twist
what they cannot dominate
and belittle
what they cannot understand.

A universe of horror and loss
surrounding a single lighted stage
where mortals dance
in defiance

by Steven King
Scribner, 2011
p. 615-616

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