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| Paris I sleep on the floor of a train As the windows caress drops of rain And the darkness outside While I sleep on this ride Echoes Paris as she fades and remains. |
| Humility, a 70 Year Lesson I look upon a plot of clay at least once every day and I say, With Soul: This plot could be me. I think upon this plot of clay As it gathers around My toes pressing down and I say, Some day: Lacking soul this plot will be me. |
| Hour Loss With each glance I lose half an hour Like rosary beads popping Throught the devout convicted's fingers. Minutes slip Each hour Father bead signals time lost To sloth, unholy, unredemable loss. |
| Still Awake When there's no souls awake but I sit here with my eyelids burning with my attention catching like a ratchet Then where you are sleeping: i wish for you and I plan for a deeper life When we are older and awake will I still be dragging you down? will I still plan deeper as I fail To sleep? |
| My Sin Jesus seems real like Beowulf or Ozymandias But His Holy name slips from my tongue into my third crow Repetetive as mass is my sin is my sin is my sin. |
| Being White at 5 AM All my eyes can reach into is darkness And around me rain clucks as it drops Spots of light suspended in the darkness draw my vision and release it My skin luminesces like a moon in full and I realize: I am at ease, and I live in innocence All my eyes reach into turns lightly gray and the raindrops diminish And the spots of light compete with the morning sun. |
| More Poetry |
| Copyright 2002, Adam C. McVay |