HillShadow
Time is measured by the peaks;
the backlit sun all at once speaks.
But here our plodding, muddled wills
live in the shadow of the hills.
I Samuel 4:12-18
Ninety-Eight
I outlived the world today,
my execution stayed;
not by time would I be felled
but by sorrow’s blade.
My sentence was length of life,
the sickle thrust was stemmed
until my seeds be harvested
and all the earth condemned.
Omission, my profane offense,
stalled the hands of time,
saved me up a cup of wrath
and recompense sublime.
Though my eyes be dimmed by age,
the heart is cruelly keen;
no anguish made is more intense
than aged hearts have seen.
To know what was and could have been,
to watch it round and round—
in piecemeal the birthright is sold
to make us safe and sound.
Not by trespass was I damned,
by zeal gave no betray;
but the world came to its end
by what I did not say.
The poetry and images of
Kenner Beckley
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