Wednesday, November 04, 2015

Until

On wilted wings of gossamer strings,
May we still set flight?

With mast that bends in fading winds,
Dare we sail this night?

As daylight pales and vision fails,
What's to spur us on?

When all goes dark and absent mark,
Peer we t'wards the dawn?

If storms befall our straining gall,
How so shall we cope?

And lain adrift in sightless mist,
Can we yet stir hope?

Then at first light, in harrowed plight,
Will boldness hoist the main?

As morn' creeps on and will is gone,
Might we start again?

2 comments:

Debi Cummings said...

Ok when is the class that we delve into the writings and musings of the deep, introspective poet, Steve Ansell? Whenever it is sign me up! I'm hooked! Did you write this? Which I'm sure you did it is quite amazing. I feel like I'm reading a master piece from the past and still trying to unravel all the meaning. I think it's time for my second lesson over an nice bottle of red wine! If you've got the time, I've got the wine! Actually that statement would make more sense coming from you :-)
deb

Steve Ansell said...

I've both time and wine. With the holidays coming (and your B-day on the horizon) perhaps we can open both my "little big sis".

I started this around the same time as "All" but it took a couple more months both because the form lent itself to easily to "kitsch" and I knew the ending and that I wasn't ready to "start" certain things the spur of which this prose was hinting to be.