Vision Poem by Gary Witt


Rating: 4.9

A gentle hand over our eyes,
Death’s meager comfort is its certitude;
Its one true lasting pain found
In festering questions shouted down the hall:
Death’s when, how, why, whether.
An ending or beginning?
Eternal silence or ethereal portal?
Continuation of everlasting energy?
Mere dissipation of chemicals bound together,
For now, by fire and electricity?
A flame too soon extinguished,
A circuit abruptly broken,
Separating current from content,
Leaving questions rising
Like smoke from the breath of a match.
Our own true lasting pain found
In flailing certitude.
And our true solace, our genuine joy,
The simple resolve to see.

Malini Kadir 20 January 2009

loved this write......your simple resolve to see!

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Tom J. Mariani 24 October 2007

Your 'Vision' is the same one I saw in Bukowski's 'Red Mercedes.' There he bangs on the car's window and threatens the driver who has just cut him off trying to get a parking space at a horse racing track. When the female passenger hands the driver a gun from the glove box, 'I walked off/toward the/clubhouse/it looked/like a damned good card/that/day/all I had to do/was/be there.'

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Not with a bang or a whimper but with a simple truth... uplifting, calming, almost tender; and visionary. (Of course that HAD to be said) . :) t x

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This is beautiful, Gary. Your description is comforting and affirming.

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Guardian Angel 26 May 2007

wow great poem, thanks for sharing, i loved it

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