Author Information
Wherefore Art Thou?
Sing to me O love that is not here
tell me of your presence, sometime
or give me a sign that all is good
and that you will be peeking behind
the red curtains soon, or a trumpet
calls, or an angel descends, or god
points, or a chorus chimes, forests
of chills are all that is seen a
dark wind stirring in tangled shadows
bowing and moving, just out of reach,
playfully impossible and frightening
the glow of hope, blown inside itself
like a red latern slowing ebbing away
or like a summer moment lasting an
eternity, life in a grain of sand,
running softly, tumbling in sadness,
of the hope of a unicorn, only to see
a pinecone lying alone on a carpet of
madness strewn and forgotten memories.
