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Condemned
We do not often write of him
although we sense him constantly
leaving his corner
taking a step forward
go back! we cry – and we inscribe a poem
retreat! we color a canvas
On days when Nature shrugs its shoulders
shakes dandruff on the earth or screams with hail
we see him hiding behind a lifeless tree
whispering words of frost or ice
Stop work – your labor’s vain and futile
your bricks will crumble, pages tear loose
scatter, sodden illegible, words lost
come rest beside me on this frozen patch
these leaves your blanket, shutting out all pain
And with a wrench we grasp the quill
the brush, the trowel, hammer, strike the nail
attempt to repair our shaking timbers – one more day
one more chance – one more page to write
against the rising wind
© Johnmichael Simon
2011
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