Gone

Folder: 
80's

        Ripen word to say,  

    The thresh is taut,

Yet word it spills,

    And word is bought.



For trial may come,

    As day begins,

With hobbled feet,

    And rattling tin.



To knock upon,

    The vested step,

That may allow the light,

    To enter, “Yes”.



But begone the quest,

    To answer call,

For not to jump,

    Is not to fall.



So pack the hearth,

    With kindling firm,

Allowing the strength,

    To reap the burn.




Author's Notes/Comments: 

A thought of where we might be but onward we go.

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