BecalmedA melancholy calm prevails. The sun is setting.
I am by myself inside a silent room. A tangled
Skein of leafless tree limbs lattices half of my view
Of barren fields and distant cars. The river,
Despite recent warming, carries icebergs
Out of sight. I shrug. I have ice in my bourbon.
I have more than I deserve, and calm of any sort,
Including that which features melancholy,
Is a thing to value. I should celebrate.
Poetry by Lawrence Beck
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Written on 2019-01-05 at 00:24
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