December 5, 2012

poem 443 of a poem a day for 2012

painting by David Stoupakis ©

telephoning christmas taut elements, writing sin to glory and back again

sometimes we lie
wide awake
when documenting
our lives
between the animal
and our human grace
we are drawn
to little pieces
of perfect paper
sleeping in lines
with geometric fines
printing designs
like snowflakes
or leaves
or tacit garden

our poems and
storied calls to arms
know the heart
might be the only organ
without a need
for a body temple
as the brain’s consciousness
may very well survive death
this is something, however
we can never be sure of
and something we can
only come to know
when writing with love
and wiring ourselves into
the one thing
that never dies

so wishing we may
and wishing we might
each come alive
on a falling star
is a dark saliency
a streaking bright truth
keeping hope alive
inside the dolls
and masks
we fashion
to folly ourselves
against fear

one day
we will look
into every glass eye
and actually know
who we are
when peace
on Earth
or at least
one night of it
makes us sure
that every heart
has become
a poem and
a song and
a story
of how love
keeps dialing
our number
just right


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