November Revisited

Jennifer Paige©1998

What was

            Is not.

What is

            Was not.

Uneven

            For the surest of foot,

            And the “purest of heart.”

Yet there is peace,

            Contentment,

Something verging on happiness

            Missing only the energy to make it so.

Is it something in the sugared air

            Which draws the venoms out?

Something unseen in the over-flowing river

            Cool and rushing like the blood of the lover?

Is this the truth sought?

Is this the reality desired?

Or is this the fruitless vine, which wraps itself still

            About the trellis in vain

            Season after season

            Yielding only withered leaves come the harvest?

Back to Poems 1998

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