The Pilgrimage: Part 11 / Phillip Neal Tippin

What of life
A snowing offers!
To launch down hill
Time after time and again.

Repeating a line 
Over and over again
In my mind, grows
Sometimes stale
Sometimes sublime.

Placed where all is poised
 Between the worlds
On a colt, the foal of a donkey.

Fifties meld new streams 
Upon the ice caked crust;
Honing their pleated way.

The one who did not believe 
Called for deliverance,
While the one who did 
Asked to be known, 
Taking his cross to follow,
Remaining with the deliverer, delivering.
  (Thieves)

The Water came to us,
As we could not get in.

To cease medicating
May be at last to die.

There are those who would not sleep,
  But do,
Conceding consciousness back to the giver
  To use


All poetry and supplementary material: copyright 2020-2021 by Phillip Neal Tippin. All rights reserved.

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