If *“poetry keeps longing alive”
Then the art form will live forever
There are those who will always
Long for something more:
Than the tent in the desert
The humble chapel in the mountains
The manger in the cold
The dread of the day
Beyond the dawn
I am one
Of those
Longing for the
Sweet, semi-comatose
Of the forbidden dream
Where warmth
Prohibits reality
Of a world
Run amok, chaotic
Where the gifts of
The wise are dashed
Upon the altars of madness
Turned away
From a manger empty
Of hope
I long
For something
More
*Robert Bly
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