Find me a prayer
before the evening comes down
to enchant the truths
that the apple unbound.
I long for some message,
a crusade or a cause,
with the slightest taste of meaning,
to give my hope pause.
I’ve stood at the slack jawed
picket fence of my scorn
too long and cast stones
not to reap in some thorns.
Aye, the soothsayer, I,
self-made relative man,
impaled on these prophecies,
I now shy the stand.
Edge bound brink man,
my essence unwon,
I’m unraveled perspective,
the all in one none.
gallagher
17Jan1977
Long Beach