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
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