Sunday, February 15, 2009

Poem Re-Draft

Orbs

The sun is not a ball of fire
but the sum of one desire:
to lure; and thus must it appear
to thoughtless eyes a burning sphere.
But all this rolling globe of light
is more than what appears to sight;
less like a flame, more like a word
in which the thought and deed are blurred
it rolls, and in a single thought
all the paths of light are caught
and bent around it like a sea
extending to infinity;
it speaks, commanding: Come to me.

Some have thought this world to fly
like merest droplets flung on high;
a little water, a bit of earth,
a thing of nothing as to worth.
But they who ponder on the skies
study better, grow more wise,
and know: each star in moving course
is subject to its endless force;
and all the glories near and far
are made to feel it where they are
by whispers born of ecstasy.
The whispers beckon: Come to me.

The stars are moved; each like a thought
has searched the sky and gently sought
the paths and ways by which things flow;
each is a word to those who know,
a gesture to each thing and kind
like searching queries in your mind;
each calls out to eternity,
words ripple out upon the sea,
each summons, saying: Come to me.

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