Sundry

The light
Pales across –
Accomplishments wane
Viewed through
Eyes many Wintered;
Who knows
Why the crow
Is black,
The crimson roses
Bite with thorns?

Did some magic put
These joining hands
Together
To support the art
Which makes love sprout
Creative
Fostering unspoken dreams?

Does
The page or
Pen
Have the syllable
Pattern
Before committed
Or are we the
Wild agents
Spreading
Chaos
With
Each
Line?

If time
Could
Choose
Would
History
Change its spots
And people
Go FREE
Into what beyond is
Never
Thought in waking
Fantasy?

Sow gardens
Seeded
In kindness,
Reap
LOVE,
Plant
Fear,
Take blows,
Issue blood,
What with
Adequate awareness
Will
Be
Done?

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

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