“4:59”
“4:59”
It flashed the time;
I pulled the door
Just like before.(I like to match
The timer’s catch,
And pull to flick
The zero’s click).I was aware,
Like wispy air
Of feather drop
Right at that spot –Of bottom reached;
No splash of each
Beluga whale,
Or drip in pail –No crunch of rocks;
No grates with locks;
Just moment there
With silent air.“So, here we are,
Like gentle jar
Of modern lift
At end of trip –“Or petrol pump
As “20” comes –
Things slow right down
Until no sound.Sweet hour of prayer
As we land there,
And look around
Here on the ground.Impulse? To move;
Take actions new;
“Take hold: let go –”
What two sides know.“Be still, my sons
’Fore dawning comes,
Then interact –
Strategic tact.”For this, much thanks;
No guns and tanks
Are needed here –
That much is clear.This EDO
To work must go;
Like write a book
So all will know.Prosperity
Each one will see;
Like farmers’ grain
Lets others gain.But here and now,
I know not how,
Descent has stopped,
Of which I’ve talked.The end was soft –
Bed pillow-topped;
So gentle – thanks;
The key? The banks.Thanks Lord for this.
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