Poetry

Good I

The lone figure balanced on the horizon
Like a tightrope walker, sand filling his shoes,
Tide rising, knows that all is lost; surely
As there is a God, there can be no escape.
The past is a great wave rolling into tomorrow
And stations beyond, flattening future days
Like cigarette ash under a heavy heel.
Faith in the negative is always justified,
But today is still today, a moment before
The end of days, time enough for pleasures
Small even in number, but still bright sparks
Against the humdrum black of sure night.
Time enough to love, to be embraced,
To remember the best of times, gone
Or yet to come, confused and warm and good.
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