motion denotes grace
where loss is a winter night;
one fleeting breath saves the holy children.
the whisps of wind blow
the eyes of blindness reflect
iced mirrors surrounding glasses
that have long since shattered
and left a ghost of sight in place
of a clear picture.

and we are those blind,
caught in this snowdrift of
humanity, asking for reprieve;
discovering that this is all
a blizzard with ice that shall
never break-

as this swerving vessel escapes
the rapture of the grip of the slip,
it discovers that motion is not grace,
and a collision simply will not stop this tailspin.

the world resulting is no more
sane, no more holy than the earth
so recently departed.

what escape has been found?
what freedom has been sacrificed?
the answers remain unclear,
as this snowfall envelopes the night.

02/17/2004

Posted on 02/18/2004
Copyright © 2024 Andrew S Adams