Hidden Words

Home is the place with wings, a land

of careless snacking, dancing to go

meet beloved. Still on the edge of the garden path

eased the fog, which veiled windows. Out

upon the horizon unperceived, a scoff

nicked at the disk of light. “Where to?”

Knives of sunlight clashed above the questioner.

“No human should enter these grounds, no brig

or wheel should penetrate

what He had made with his own hands.” But,

no one saw beyond the Book. In lieu,

do mark, in lieu, of truths not written,

organs of virtues, vessels so meek,

never to speak when the world lean

to an antichrist, but knelt like the prophet who

faced the burning bush. It was just so low

of the world to close her ears, to own

remembrances but use them not. Truth

granted but rusting, intellect rotten. Voodoo

evaluated as science, science but scam;

to be or not to be, can we continue to not see?


Read vertically down both sides: those were the three prompts that I was given for this poem.


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