Posted in Leaves on the Poet Tree (Poems)

Writing on the Apocalypse

there is a comfort that comes
with the scratching of the pen
the slow refinishing of a church altar
the precociousness of a child
who blissfully does not fully realize
the fearful nature of these times

my writing takes me into the day
old wood grain shines like new in the morning sun
the laughter of children playing greets me as I step outside

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