Once there was a band of brothers and
sisters, well, several bands
linked together as chain, but there was no
wheel to turn, just mountains to move and
shadows that needed light.
The places of gathering were wondrous glittering temples that, alas,
were in constant flux and seemed to always be
in a state of disrepair. This caused the holders of the light
to move apart even
as they attempted to move together, losing
momentum for a time,
just for a time;
an infinitesimal time
as the universe goes, but enough time
for some of the lights to flicker and
go dark as the holder
of that particular light
moved beyond the grasp
of the brothers and sisters.
Never before had such a gathering
been possible and even if
few were watching,
it was and ever shall be,
of this none shall debate, such a thing never seen
in the history of mankind or even catkind or
any other kind of kind you would chose.
I tell you three times,
maybe more, this has never been done before.
We are the first
We are the first
We are the first
There are no dead poets within the collective;
one poet touched one, who
touches another, and
the flow continues, now with
no end. Once I wrote these lines all
alone and no one shined in my glow and
if I read, I read alone. Once I walked that long and lonesome
road and when the lights go out
I feel the walls close in, but then
I recall that I am never true alone,
my words and soul have
joined the flow.
Upon dawning of the night
hope left joining in the light
words left burning in the sky
the circle will never die
Love is just a four letter word
And poet just another chord
in an endless, restless ponder
for the true universal wonder
I write this for the displaced light
of Elly, but she
has joined the flow,
remains tightly within
the circle and it matters not
that they know of Elly,
it is only important that they know
of the flow and
how it circles.
M.J.Carson
3-8-2011
