Birthplace

The wide green pastures, of long forgotten herds,

     The time thereafter, conscience claims unheard.

The fatalistic mistake, to over eagerly partake.

     Oh Heavens, Gawd!

     Pardon me Lord!



The quest for the stars, the stars in the eyes,

    The eyes in the quest, the I in the lies.

The lack of regret in the need to forget.

     Oh Heavens, Gawd!

     Pardon me Lord!



The loss of the faith, the cutting remark,

    The needless pretence, the voice in the dark.

The passive violence, the solemn silence.

     Oh Heavens, Gawd!

     Pardon me Lord!



The careful plan, the cautious chance.

     The reckless attempt, the unworthy flippant.

The foolish vision, the unheeded wisdom.

     Oh Heavens, Gawd!

     Pardon me Lord!



The tailored suit, the official tie,

     The broken spirit, the lesser life.

The unerring result, the internal jolt.

     Oh Heavens, Gawd!

     Pardon me Lord!



The limited scope, the mistaken rhythm,

     The mis-begotten hope, the demanding river.

The avenged misdeeds, the relentless disease.

     Oh Heavens, Gawd!

     Pardon me Lord!



The usurped gifts, the silent curse,

     The unknown allegiance, the borrowed purse.

The careless debts, the wasteful  theft.

     Oh Heavens, Gawd!

     Pardon me Lord!



The indulgent mistake, the selfish thirst,

     The fallen hunger, the unpeakable worst,

The bleating plea, the pain unseen.

     Oh Heavens, Gawd!

     Pardon me Lord!



The wishing heart, the greater thee,

     The precious moment, the growing sea,

The froth and bubble, the ebb of trouble.

     Oh Heavens, Gawd!

     Pardon me Lord!



But as all the storms condense,

     By the might of what is left.

As the truly lovedd understands,

     There be no sorrow compared,

     To that of lives unshared,

To the one tarried by the hands.



Shall there be the intensity,

     Of anger's sudden propensity,

To call all the sea'es salt,

     That heralded be the one,

     That forgives the unknown son,

To take the lightning bolt.

And by some meek effort,

     By moonshine, out of weather,

Shall thank the Heaven's God,

     And Praisedd be the Lord!

    

Author's Notes/Comments: 

How did it ever get this way?

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Athalia Lystra's picture

How did it get this way? I wish i knew the answer. Your words were mesmerizing. The repetition worked beautifully as well.