elysabeth faslund Poems
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A Timed Sonnet*
The days, invariably, quickly pass.
Natures care not to amend tiresome hours
Hiding, lurking, sleeping. Casting away
From mortal shores. Trespassing. Always gray.
Unmindful of colorful patterning
Lives, as a rule, require. Preservation
Of the soul in brilliant tapestries needs
Flowering crescendos, not boring weeds.
Denouement, in time-set twilight, seldom
Lights any spark to firework-light the skies.
Days, industriously speeding, passing,
Of dullness impregnate the years. Massing,
Becoming monsters we lustily bred
From colorless years. ...
An Old Man Told Me This*
Walk with no shoes...walk quietly.
Walk like a new mother,
Watching her babe.
Walk, not speaking, as close to
Sunset as you can.
Walk when there are no clouds
In the sky.
Tiptoe to the waves' edge. Stop.