No angels come
	With softly trilling voices,
	The twisted maze about us.
	No seraph
	Whispers answers
	Within our hearts
	To match the tick
	Of Time misunderstood.
	We are wood--
	Or would as well be,
	So little do we see.
	There's more to Life
	Forgot, than e'er we see.
	Why must that be?


© Fred O'Bryant. All rights reserved.

Previous Poem Return to poem list. Next Poem