“The Messenger”

“The Messenger”

The messenger comes with no one home;
In perpetuum, in his office leaving notice, warnings posted
Ever heeded, ever kneaded, ever hosted
In a land of consolation. Trust allows itself to roam;
Perhaps the mass will linger moments but never long
As all matter seeks its solace in the rites where there is none;
Fortune cannot rest where passions rise with the rhythm of its sums.
Marvel, then, at match and taper, humour candles, denigrate the sun
And at no time is the thirst for water. Equity despairs
In every age, its heads seek history books and praises in the printed word
While no one truly reads and ears have long since ceased to hear.
Mercury, Hermes, call them as you will, but here
And there and in an era late or early epoch only fear
Commands an audience with claims to immortality. “That great star
My friend, is all we never see and all we ever are!”

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2 responses to ““The Messenger”

  1. You have that touch that masterfull weaves words into a beautiful pleasure!

    • Your thoughts were kindly received, my friend. It provides a double pleasure when something of the effect of my own thought translates into something of benefit or possibly something close to a similar, if not identical benefit to another soul; otherwise, whether in prose or poetry, there is the slight chance that any seed has that merely falls on hard times as food for passing animals or grasping plants; or came to be without the traffic of pollens’ fortunes; or yet again made its way on the day the rains came, the floods ruled, the winds reversed and the earth’s crust buckled. Even the sun’s brilliance leaves any thought rather scorched than nourished or worse, no more its ends than its means. I am glad you let the thing sprout, regardless of whether or not it produces fruit. It certainly did for me. Who could ask for more between any two souls in God’s Creation? Stay well, and again, my thanks for your kindnesses in your remarks. From what I’ve seen, you are either a poet, yourself, or a poem.

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