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Of what there is of life that cannot find a home Of what there is of life that cannot find a home In life itself, I call the part that does not stick In words or grand philosophies, which yet inscribes Its glories in the views it offers me. Old Soul, For you I will prepare a place that outlasts time, A branch on which your fleeting deeps may roost awhile And see the mirror where you find yourself, and me. Here find agreement in our cause and sep’rate paths, That also are agreed, for you are deathless and Your restless, ageless ache finds mortal echo here. Go forth, and know I’m also forth away from ties To permanence: the turning page will fell this branch As if it neither was nor ever should have been, Yet it will grow anew when mortal eyes return. |
This Poem was Critiqued By: Lora Silvey On Date: 2006-01-03 00:22:34
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.94872
Mark,
I truly like and respect the work you've done on this one. Old soul, yes a place to rest for a bit until time to move on and once again be quiet until rebirth. I don't know how you feel on the subject of reincarnation, this to me appears to speak of it and a thousand other things that come with. Old souls, yes they exist, do we recognize them and the gifts of wisdom they have to offer--sometimes and then again sometimes not. Is this where poems come from, a muse-Old soul? OK, I guess I'm rambling, just very tired from all the night watches I've had to do lately...this offering of yours gave me a moments respite, so I must thank you for the interlude and for a comfortable easy read.
Best always,
Lora