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patterns of ink

How fruitless to be ever thinking yet never embrace a thought... to have the power to believe and believe it's all for naught. I, too, have reckoned time and truth (content to wonder if not think) in metaphors and meaning and endless patterns of ink. Perhaps a few may find their way to the world where others live, sharing not just thoughts I've gathered but those I wish to give. Tom Kapanka

Sunday, September 26, 2010

Only Then

How sad the news came on a day
that was a drizzle of sky and gray
with barely the breeze to move a leaf
just as summer lost its breath
and autumn brought its hint of death
to withered vines of garden grief.
Strange that it was then I learned
the corner we had turned
led not to a path but a wall
and on it, written plain as day,
what no voice dared to say.
Yet only then I heard you call.
© Copyright 2010 Tom Kapanka/ Patterns of Ink


Anonymous Anonymous said...

Amen, Tom. We enjoy your poems.

4/11/10 6:53 AM  

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