Belief and Its Rejection

Apr 15 2015 Published by under Poetry

The ill adjust to sickness, madness, death

that they are taught they cannot overcome—

no One can overcome, that draws One breath,

but this One is my god, alike in sum.

When did We look the cancer in the face

and lay before it all Our pre- and post-

and present tense of Endless Holy Space

within an Honest, Kindly Ghost—at most,

imperfect spinning wheels and grinding gears,

a cuckoo springing twenty past the ‘our,

that knows by sense of Beauty, right it hears

is right if Kindness is the highest pow’r.

The doctor, of Us All, felt most relieved—

we said She had a cure, and She believed.

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