What Comes These Days?What comes these days? A light?
From where? Why now? I do not
Understand what's changed. It's
Almost as if someone, some thing,
Has torn off the film which had, forever,
Covered me, dulling both the sun and sky,
And all that flourishes beneath them.
Has the man Joy left upon a curb, head
Down, within his hands, been hailed
By her, been reacquainted, raised back up
Onto his feet to bask in unfamiliar light?
I dare not speculate. I just know
These are different days.
Poetry by Lawrence Beck
Read 17 times
Written on 2021-03-30 at 16:53
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