Serendipitous Encounters Ii Poem by Elliott Rosenberg

Maybe it wasn't the best of prayer,
but it was true prayer.
An orison of snow purity,
that powders our hearts at nightfall with limpid tears.

For when strangers come together to share a tale,
Their impetuous martyrdom canters well beyond factuality,
their compendious egos shroud to Keller history,
While friendships viscously forge to dissipate.

So what remains is unquestioned,
And all that remains is a forlorn cloud of uncertainty.
As we jaunt gracefully forward,
To a sea of stagnant tranquility.

Only then does one see clarity,
yonder past swaddled icepacks in the arctic circle,
where white bears hunt to hibernate,
and man falls to his withered knees.

A place where woman protest in outrage,
suffrage themselves to liberty,
seek a life free of bondage,
frivolous as seals in open water.

It is freedom of democracy that splinters a callous soul,
casual encounters which chaste over affliction,
It is those diurnal angels we meet nowhere,
Who make all the difference.