“The Daily News”

“The Daily News”

The daily news finds respite high atop a rock
In some secluded spot not far from a puddle, brother to a brook;
The one report remarks that from withered history poetry is mined, a book,
Weathered, perhaps, its stipend possibly a set of sapphire keys to open locks
And doors whose wrought iron hinges run the risk of rust from residue—
It rains, you see—and twice forever close in on themselves, recreated, redefined
Adjusted to all that might have been, “had the runes been kind,
And then some!” Coded in the syntax of yet another, “This might be true,
But possibly nothing more than the glory of the many in the few.”
There is a blindness in the accidental radiance of a season, thorns
Of beauty, blight of disaffected action, unintended factions born
Of limitations, fractions of qualities and attributes that mask the subtle blues
And greens of ocean deeps in living chrysalides of collecting highland dew; the essences
Of truths bend with greater force in time than proceeds gleaned from all the senses.

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