Reprieve For A Soul


No weather surmounts her season,

Now would I blow the sunshine from your eyes;

For whatever comes,

Also goes...

      
        In storm or maudlin reason'

        Nothing dies of itself;

        Fortunes are for the future,

        Though always unredeemed...


             Dead then, are those desires,

             Skinned-alive and violet as dawn,

             We wander unrepentant,

             To take ourselves...somewhere.


I am of the mind that made me,

Weak as the lamb with but one baa.

Allowed to take breath,

Then bleat.


       To know the weather in many meadows,

       To graze in the good green grass,

       Silent, sometimes,

       Though suffering wildflowers beneath.


No, I would not deny the day,

Although at night I sleep,

IN the deep dark pastures,

Surrounded by all the dead shadows of fence,

       Farmhouse, and barn and by what alarm


       Would I tell you!  That ll the earth

                                                 is blazing!


             Gorge me, the,

             give me all your sorrows,

             When.

- Michael W. Eliseuson