The Pilgrimage: Part 20 / Phillip Neal Tippin
Not better but mending,
Closer attend,
Un-bending.
Bite in the life of words—
Hound yourself
Or be hounded.
To prove I’m earnest
Would be your proof
I’m sadly misguided.
We live among cold
And windy things,
Dusted and drowned
On wallèd feelings.
For those who remember
And count now as nothing:
Work, in the face of it, keep
Midst the Spirit of Peace.
No good looking off into the strain
If you don’t come back again.
The articulate
Came and left unmet
By articulation.
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