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Maximize your screen with your F11 key |
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An Imperfect Life poetry by Fr. Harold Macdonald |
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The city sleeps, the citizens repose except the ambulance's urgent wail. The traffic lights go red or green, who knows? Lit streets, the skies obscure, the moon make pale. Behind the eyes the dreams and visions flow, strange phantoms of the day's forgotten things, fears rise in forms distorted; come and go, blurred images of what tomorrow brings. Then comes the sun, which should refresh, may not. The people rise and quickly outward rush compulsive children whom the law begot grim portraits painted by an unkind brush. Above, stars laugh, space bends, light yawns, a billion suns arise, a billion dawns.
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