This Poem was Submitted By: Gene Dixon On Date: 2002-09-23 16:09:11 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

To Listen to Music While Reading this Poem, just Click Here!

Click Here To add this poem to your "Voting Possibilities" list!


At Play, Under the Watchful Eye of God

Which of us would, willingly, pick up the stone? Which of us would, knowingly, toss it into the stream? No one really thinks beyond the reach of their own arm; beyond the length (or depth)  of their own genitalia. Sooner or later, all mysteries become paradox -  beginning in obscurity, filtered through prisms - eventually revealed as thoughts, contrary to expectations and never quite as tall as they seemed. We wave one hand, watching the light pass through without feeling the heat of the flame. With all the breath left in a gasp, we listen to the dark fill the room, never considering the depths of the dream. Now the universe pauses, ready to implode, ready to reverse history and complete the journey a ball, a small, dense ball, resting in the left hand of God. 

Copyright © September 2002 Gene Dixon


Sorry, there are no critiques for this poem in our system... If the poem is older, the critiques have been purged! Poetry Contests Online at The Poetic Link

Click HERE to return to ThePoeticLink.com Database Page!