I look each morning toward the sun
and find a new veil, freshly hung.
In vain, I seek to break to the bond
to see what truth lies just beyond
this ragged fringe I comprehend
which like a shattered prism bends
my each attempt to know what’s true–
to see it in its naked hue–
and own for once the smallest part
of something real within my heart.
I listen all across the earth,
but only hear an echo’s worth
of hollow voices that compete,
some with honey, dripping sweet;
others with a sound like thunder,
tearing my beliefs asunder,
come to plunder seeds I’ve sown,
convicting me what I’ve well known
that this life’s burdened fruit I bear
is all for me with none to share.
I call each night on empty sky
though faint of hope for a reply.
In shadow cast by waning moon,
in aching fear of closing gloom;
against all hope, for I a wretch,
while nailed into this tomb of flesh,
still seek to know what life could hold–
this mystery I can’t unfold–
but no fair voice does it return
save mine alone for me to spurn.
I see no writing on the wall.
I hear no comfort sounds at all.
I speak; no voice answers my call.
No force exists that can forestall
this; our legacy begotten–
to forget and be forgotten.
~ John Rea-Hedrick
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