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


*Robert Bly

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