Today's poem is by Bruce Bond
So when I arrived in hell, the sign said,
If you lived here, you'd be home by now,
and while I did not get the joke, I read
the language reading me. I knew it knew
great suffering can feel a little homeless,
and then the smell of hair in the distance.
And I followed, the way one life follows
one man and grows long as the sun goes down.
That's me, looking for a chance to call
home and say, I have not abandoned you,
Hope. The prison architecture of hell
is, as comedies go, a nightmare, true.
But dreams open what they close. Like circles.
And we, on fire, are only passing through.
Copyright © 2015 Bruce Bond All rights reserved
from Copper Nickel
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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