Strikes at the Heart

 

A hunger strikes at the heart – dictates the pace,

backwards, into a time ( times ) and into a place

where, when one sees, as one looks into the face

of, watches the hands move counter in space,

 

then recalls, – remembers what one has lost –

realizing, upon times fleeting face, layers of frost

painting a picture, the portrait of, icy cold.

A truth, if but one would see, in the stories to be told.

 

How does one come to know, what is perceived ?,

to be truth, a truth, the truth in what is retrieved

from the ashes, the light, the fire within memories hoard.

That which, for eons and eons has been stored

 

away, for an understanding, during some future day.

Hopefully before the spirit, the soul have slipped away

into the ether, that place where they may have to stay

for eternity, after going into that good night - they pray

 

B. J. “A” 2

November 12^th 2004