On the very edge the
moment when the world stops
and the sky begins
we stop.
Not because
steam rising from the engine
or
E flashing in red
we stop
there is only one way
to go from there
up.
Each color seeming
to change to
blue and then
rising from the ground
to fade to black.
Does the sound of leaves
cracking
the smell of maple rising
the turn ahead
stop you as well?
-
Question of
Are there questions you wish you asked?
-
Yes
-
No
-
-
Question of
Do you remember things that are disconnected?
-
Yes
-
No
-
-
Question of
Is the first time also the last time?
-
Yes
-
No
-
An admirer of pure beauty will surely stop every time he finds it.
I love that, Albert. As always you have given me something to think about!
I am confused now… What I have said that has made you feel the need to think about it?
I am trying to understand if I am an admirer of true beauty, or if I sometimes stumble upon beauty and realize it later.
Unfortunately, I can’t hypnotize you to find the answer.
Great poem, and call yourself The Wonderer.
🙂 That used to be my tag line. Sometimes I wander, sometimes I wonder. 🙂