Monday, February 15, 2010


At the Edge of Despair
By Dee Newman

No matter who we are, or how lonely
We may be, no matter how rough the road,
How turbulent and wind blown the sea,
Or how arduous and heavy the load,
Though pushed to the very edge of despair,
Somewhere, within the recesses of the mind,
Love lives, and if allowed to give and share,
Guided by nothing more than the blind
Impulse and eagerness to know what’s just
Over the horizon and around the bend,
Though fraught with danger and encompassed
With fear and doubt, will help us to extend
A hand to the tormenters of our dreams.
While the sun yet moves across the mountains,
Shimmering on her rivers and streams,
Flowing from her perennial fountains
Over polished granite worn smooth by time
On its relentless journey to find its end,
The ancient primordial slime
From which we have yet to transcend,
Despite our genetic diversity,
Still shapes our beliefs and behavior
As we cling to the absurdity
That the divine’s more than a metaphor.

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