Go at the curse
Of the sun fading light,
O'er the idiosyncratic
Remorse or so or saved…
The indigence of strife.
What we seem to have we
Squander in illusion;
Over-pressed for time;
Pored by frame-by-frame…
We illustrate the shame.
Was it not an imperfection?
Whence it came, this pensive thing:
A way to heal the staying grief
A way to feed the lingered self
This day…
Not to be the searchlight doe
Not that, not the epiphanies
Beyond the open road –
Where the dusk is drawing,
Calling us back home.
Kelly Vinal
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-calling-4/
