Sympathy
I cannot help but feel sorry
For this little bird
On a limb
In the rain,
Who cannot help but feel sorry
For this tired old man
In a house
Who can’t fly.
~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved
Father's Day
My father was too busy
Pulling weeds from his manicured lawn,
Each root carefully extracted intact,
To notice his house burning down.
~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved
Will
How long is a moment?
To a baby?
To a star?
Our lives are a collection of moments,
Falling through time,
Falling even through death,
All the way into eternity.
This place is a moment,
Even the universe is a moment,
For all that is not permanent will pass,
And all that passes is momentary.
So tell me,
What is permanent?
Everywhere I look,
Everything I learn,
All that I know tells me
The most permanent thing of all,
Will.
Even after our expanding universe is pulled apart,
Stretched into a soupy, cosmic protoplasm,
Some sort of microbe will struggle to exist,
To persist,
Either in this dilapidated universe
Or in some other, younger place.
It’s what pushes a single blade of grass
Out of the ground
Toward the light of our dying star.
It’s what awakens us each morning
And sends us out into this particular world.
It’s the most eternal thing I know,
Will.
~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved
The White Deer
After years in the forest,
Walking through the woods,
One snowy morning
A white deer,
So rarely seen,
Never seen by me,
A ghost in the clearing,
Not haunting,
A messenger,
A vision of my innocence
Before I lost faith with this world,
When the future was infinite,
When all things were possible.
There,
In the forest,
A motionless visage in the snowy woods,
A white deer,
Its penetrating gaze piercing my soul,
A ghost sent to remind me,
Telling me,
It’s not too late,
Never too late for reclamation.
~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)