Broken Lens

The glasses fall.
The lens crack, but
do not shatter.
The eyes of the wearer
go unfocused, seeing only a blur.
The eyes frantically flicker around,
searching for the clarity they no longer have.
they single out the cracks, eyeing them,
noticing every intricate fault.
Seeing only the brokenness, and not
the beauty beyond.
The eyes once saw in full, clear, detail
trees, flowers, waterfalls, and all of nature.
The eyes once saw a Father smiling to a Son.
The eyes once saw fullness, completeness.
They once saw beyond themselves.
Now all they see
are the cracks.
All they see, all they focus on,
are broken lens.

http://wagner-poetry.blogspot.com/2010/10/broken-lens.html (5 years and 3077 days ago)

1 Comment

Broken, Lens

adeincyprus says:

I am sure I have seen this image before...........

REPLY

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My son, my executioner
I take you in my arms
Quiet and small and just astir
and whom my body warms

Sweet death, small son,
our instrument of immortality,
your cries and hunger document
our bodily decay.

We twenty two and twenty five,
who seemed to live forever,
observe enduring life in you
and start to die together.

~~~Donald Hall
(5 years and 3073 days ago)

1 Comment

Son, Executioner

jerostone says:

A hell of a poem, author. Up and on my way to find out more about Mr. Hall. And, oh yes, a nice image to go with it.

REPLY

Howdie stranger!
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The Little Church
(Rosedale)

I love a little church, a plain, old fashioned meeting-house,
Hard by a traveled road, or on a wind-swept hill;
Where the people stand to sing: "All hail the power,"
And each reverent knee is bent before the heavenly will.

I love the pleasant folks, neighbor-like and friendly;
I love the bent gray heads that crowd the narrow pews;
Restless children bobbing up and down upon the hard seats,
While the preacher reads aloud the foreign mission news.

There's a tuneful choir of frogs, somewhere in the hollow;
Through the open window comes a breath of meadow-sweet.
There's a holy stillness that is like a benediction,
Making every little pew a perfect glory-seat.

I've no religion that the dear Lord would be thinking of,
But I love His little church wherever it may be.
"Alas, and did my Saviour bleed," and "All hall the power,"
And "Holy, Holy, Holy,"____they are fine enough for me.


The Call of Kansas and Other Poems
Esther M. (Clark) Hill
(Cedar Rapids: Torch Press. __)
Page 43 (5 years and 3077 days ago)