Time Is The Ziggurat Poem by Patti Masterman

Time Is The Ziggurat



Time is the ziggurat that collapses,
When all the people have come in to pray;
And I worshiped at the base
And I honored all your faces,
But of your once-caring I can find no trace.

Space is the fold of long enduring,
Keeping me well away your side;
Truths so rare that we gave up searching
In your temples so far and wide.

Life is the rite of passage, unspoken,
Rift that's between the now and then;
And once upon a dream
We saw it's lightnings gleam,
But we can't remember how far back when.

Space is the fold of long enduring,
Keeping me well away your side;
Truths so rare that we gave up searching
In your temples so far and wide.

Death comes at the end;
To claim our carcass,
And nobody waits
To hold your hand-

If you died alone,
It would not be stark as
Living life too afraid
To make a stand.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Paul Judges 18 May 2010

Very well achieved, Patti

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