Lost
and Sometimes Found
I
don’t know why there is a certain justice
hidden
in the notes Beethoven composed.
Each
day the question arises, is there true
salvation
hidden in the lines I write?
Some
claim it is a gift given, the light a soul
emits
in the darkness of night. Why is it that
I
have come to love the sounds crickets make
in
order to attract their mates?
Sunlight
crossing the window sill at dawn
occasionally
melts the bars of my confinement.
What
will it take to sever the ball and chain I
was
shackled with at birth?
I
have been given so few answers throughout
my
seventy-years of life. There are, however,
those
glorious days of revelation when Picasso
speaks
to me cubistically from the grave.
Even
so, I find that sometimes I still need a bit
of
help with the translation.
Chris
Hanch 8-29-17
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