Jack Worthington

Rookie - 25 Points (1977 / Yuma, Arizona, U.S.A.)

The Gate - Poem by Jack Worthington

One late afternoon I walked by a church
The saints long buried and returned to the earth
Their peace, now broken, posterity's token, has given birth
A baloon entangled itself in a birch.

I could not bear to look away
Yet the past could not bare false witness
As I watched that iron gate sway, guarding nothing but time delayed
The fast no longer held, the progeny exuding weakness.

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Topic(s) of this poem: time

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Poem Submitted: Saturday, August 29, 2009

Poem Edited: Sunday, September 21, 2014

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