This Poem was Submitted By: Lennard J. McIntosh On Date: 2004-05-01 16:41:22 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

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From Night To Day

The fields, the soil, and grass, stands unchanged  as the wind. Are my thoughts equally real? Or,  merely spring seedlings in a consuming winter  growth?  Can it be that I am not really thinking,  or that life is only thought? A condition of mind,  tied, transient, and tangled?  Man’s hunger for greed, the inhumanity of man that  spills sweet notions tolerant and understanding,  to simply substitute atrocities for sunsets, the  loving brush strokes that hide all stains and  blemished blood.  It was Socrates who sought the truth in mirrors  that answered with no more than to wrap his  eternal blanket as the branch of life’s lattice  that modifies tunes of darkness to songs of light;  that transforms the unseen into spotless sight; or,  that alters the echoes calling a society sodden in  wrong - to rays that radiate the sun’s position to  mountains of high noon right.

Copyright © May 2004 Lennard J. McIntosh


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