A Justification

The pine tree growing out of rock,
Cloud shrouded pinnacle a dream;
What greater artistry than that?

Or the wind making its shriek and hum
Free from instrument or score —
What truer song?

A poem – part landscape, part mindscape,
An onerous endeavor. Is it truth
Demands such excavation?

What imagining makes real more
Than real? What riddle?
In our native skull

Illumination is more than a desire.
Shadows grow in waning light;
The pen is mightier.

 

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