Wednesday, February 22, 2017

My god

Is there really much left?
Should you stay much longer?
Would it make a diff'rence if I promised,
You don't have to wrong her,

That the steps to where you want to end up,
Could take another route,
Longer, harder, with less time at the end,
Less soil and blood and sweat left on your boot,

Less cold, less tears, far lesser solitude,
In which to do your work,
No uncertainty or dangerousness,
No deep laid thoughts to jerk?
Nothing at all,
Or maybe, ev'rything.
My god, in your own sad, darkest moments,
Do you have power over your thinking?

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