Mistakes - 0973 - Initial Version
Mistakes we made are coming home to roost.
Too little energy remains to boost
another act as now the will to see
is absent from the script, and, quoting Proust,
'à la recherche du temps perdu' we flee.
We flee towards an end both known, unknown,
follow a path which our own past has sown,
here straight, there stony, everywhere its key
inscribed in cyphered symbols should be shown
to city_zen in tune with Destiny.
But fear of fear too often dissipates
impressions outlined by the hand that Fate's
swift moving finger writes, for clarity
is blurred by those rejecting truth's debates,
who blind eye turn to visibility
when writing on the wall anticipates
the fall to come, the storm which tumbles dates
from palm oasis in whate'er degree.
We look to truth, if truth there be, too late
to ride Time's tide towards eternity.
What visibility emancipates
the will to change where change anticipates
uncertain outlook, where transparency
drives home fears blindness would eliminate?
There's none so blind as those who will not see.
(3 December 2001)
poem by Jonathan Robin
Added by Poetry Lover
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