Am I a lone sunbeam on a soundless sea?
Who am I? Am I real? Or am I an illusion,
delusion? A microscopic speck somewhere
in a genetic chain, part matter, part electron?
From what superheated source did I evolve?
Who am I? Am I a whisper on a dark cosmic wind?
Am I an allusion? A connection to some power
somewhere? Or was I never? What mystery awaits
as the chill creeps and the tunnel narrows and the
fine blue light becomes a bright pinpoint beyond?
Sometimes while trapped in rush-hour traffic,
or a heavy downpour, or in a beer joint, or
at a fireworks display, or while the snow falls
like swirling moths around a street light, sometimes
at a New year's Eve party, or at a friend's funeral,
© Rod (AMPAW@aol.com)
Watch these pages for more poems by Rod.
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Leaves Of Fall
Vermont Is For Apples
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Graphics by Marilyn
© The featured image is a TomWYO (TOMWYO@aol.com) photograph.