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Wednesday, February 3, 2010

who opens the door





who opens the door,
and who is knocking;
and who shoulders the dry, heaving breast of winter,
when whoever fires the gun?

is it really true the season's aimless,
when the hot breath of summer has begun;
and who'll dry the tears of springtime
when the vacant memory grows more dumb?

and who remembers,
and who forgets;
and what of earth is worth remembering
when everything's peace is forever forfeit?


3 comments:

  1. I love poems like this. They stick with you and put your gears to work. It's like walking around with a Rubik's cube trying to line up all of the correct parts.

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  2. I like the questioning nature of this poem...and the last line is unforgetable....I hope "everything" doesn't forfiet all peace, however...but rather finds a sliver of it somewhere...or even just a piece of peace...then ther might be two peace in a pod....sorry I couldn't resist...*smile*

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  3. I love the effect you have achieved with the personification of the seasons - it brings such vigor to your theme.

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