Archive 11/01/09 - (1)

   

Elevation

                                                                  

 

Sunday morning is predictably, exultantly, ineluctably

The epitome of my week's spirituality,

That summit from which I gaze out, over my immediate past,

 

And savor the undertakings of the last six days,

Assess the possibilities ahead of me,

That I won't career down dread's dead end,

 

Rather set off on adventures through new wildernesses,

With reality, creativity, and me riding side by side,

Bareback, atop pure-white unicorns,

 

In quest of kingdoms not yet laid in place, stone by stone —

Atlantises, Xanadus, Shangri-las, Camelots,

Sanctuaries of sheer imaginative enlightenment and delight,

 

Where even the worst of intentions

Turn into birds-of-paradise overflowing vases of human kindness

And village idiots teach wise men the meaning of love.

 

I crave each Sunday a.m. as though it were breath,

Revel in the visions it circulates through my inspirations,

Rely on its elevation, to let me locate my soul below.

 

 

 

 

                                               

 

11/01/09 - (1)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 
 
 
 
       

 

 
   
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