Can there come
	From a torn heart
	A seamless Love?
	I have lost
	The purity of soul,
	Which drove my pen
	To poetry's
	Open, delightful door.
	In a life
	Once touched with majesty
	And beauty's awe,
	There now
	Rattles only
	Confusion and emptiness.
	Had the loss
	To be?
	Or was it
	(as I suspect)
	My own dark, grasping hand
	Which snuffed out
	The light of mystery?
	Or both... ?
	I wish I knew
	The answer
	As I stand amid
	Thoughts gone dry and brittle
	Like November leaves
	Scurrying in the autumn wind.

8/16/77

© Fred O'Bryant. All rights reserved.

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