The task of the poet is to write; to find that brief moment of silence and write. We never know where the words take us and for what reason the sequence of words arrive on the paper, but there it is... the birth of a poem. A poem in which the meaning doesn't become relevant until years later. Happy day everyone!

If ever there was, I am
No longer attached
Never perfect
No longer with burdened
Shoulders that I
Rise to the surface
Beaming with light
Blasting with sound
Refractory and detached.
To whom I belong:
I say to that Light,
To that great Spirit of Star
Luminescent in the night
That lulls me
Endows me with love
Enormous affection--
The love of Christ,
I say, irreplaceable.

-mr gahon 12/12/11


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