Friday, April 1, 2011

All Ill Be Gone

When a cloud hovers from above,
Wish it well, give it love,

It is your duty to provide the nudge,
For that cloud to swiftly pass,

Before its lining alters hue from grey to black,

Aisles of fading, years of deceit,

Confessionals empty this evening,

It’s not that I wish not to speak,
It’s not that I’ve no remorse and cannot grieve,

It’s just because repent is what my enemies expect of me,

Swirling waves, a magnetic lure pulls the soul,
Grasping throats in one hand,

A pain you feel, but do not understand,

A compression you know so well,
An ignorance, on which your mind,

So often lingers, so often dwells,

Amidst the children,
Out at play, each afternoon,

No worries, no cares,
Precious are the second then,

A pleasing rite, adults so unnoticeably lose passage from
Resolved we drop to knees; we chant expediently,” All ills be gone, first in front and then in back”

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