Death (or Birth)

My eyes grow bleary,
milking out the now;
a gauzy drape to close Telestial tour.
And voices,
as echoes in a dream,
slide through its folds:
Don't leave!
I remember --
has it been that long ago --
when childhood's carefree frolic
also beckoned me to pause.
But I reluctantly moved on.
And will again,
though nothing's clear beyond.
"Don't leave!"
Should I stay?
I think not.
I see Light ahead.

 Steve Dunn Hanson

 

 

 

New Hampshire, 2009

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