“And All She Did Was Laugh”

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“And All She Did Was Laugh”

And all she did was laugh;
Who was He, she’d asked,
Where’s the pill that secures the past,
Where the shining light, the pilgrim’s staff
That points the way and parts the iron clasp
Of seas, brings bread with ease, the manna,
The law from which the last hosanna
Of the season’s raised, one dying gasp
Before the long draw of relief, the intimation
Sometime forgotten but always renewed
That even in the eternal night of space are suns
And galaxies, cosmic schemes, stars and planets spun
Of singularity and paradigm, the endgame, fruition,
The handwriting on the wall and on the once and future moon.

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2 responses to ““And All She Did Was Laugh”

  1. The moving finger writes, and having writ… I wonder if we would take note… xx

    • I might have thought so years ago, but experience in these later years tells me that no matter whether the messenger is Shakespeare or The Christ, few, if any take note until they have no choice, or in other words, until that point at which they can no longer collect knowledge as if it were something for display on a coffee table or incidental appropriate periodic decor for the living room walls, and must at last convert that knowledge into experience. Only then do they listen, take note, or give a damn at all; even then, odds are that it is too late because by that time the parade has already gone by.

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