Found Poem

For a moment,

everything was clear,

and when that happens

you see that the world

is barely

there

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

of

the

dark.

from 11-22-63: A Novel

by Steven King

Scribner, 2011

p. 615-616