HERE IS The second poem I read Wednesday night. ALL OF HISTORY All of history is bound up in where you are The things that seem so far That we forget, Are those that linger more... The echoes of the past come to your door. The faces and the places and the mores Of man before, or ever you were born, Live in your DNA and culture. Unerasable, each storm each triumph Lifts you on its wind, Each crest comes crashing onto shore On billowing waves of blue, and Consumates at your door. There is no rock, no stable place On which to put your feet Against this storm, but One; The Father and the Son. Pat Taylor
Posted on: Sat, 05 Jul 2014 12:12:10 +0000
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