Middle Clarity

Let me see it for myself, when the air is
Not obscured, and there’s no denial of
Mortal sight between the harvest moon
And here
I own this state of clouded view, the
Neglect of objectivity, my design -
Inadvertent, creeping like the sheltered moss
Of an ancient English moor
So,
No infractions to the wind
For haze that drifts across the plain -
No smears of reputation,
Nothing to defend -
But pain
Show me paths of gilded grandeur,
Through snow-capped peaks of time,
In grace and splendor -
Grant me space to make my peace,
With the innocence of a child’s eye,
And the wisdom of old men -
These middle times of mine

by Kelly Vinal

Comments (0)

There is no comment submitted by members.