One Hundred Years

What is trust but insidious risk
cloaked in a tender blanket of intimacy
until violated;
no return to desirable templates.

Is it instinct to gamble where,
combined with a heart’s deep yearning
for acceptance and the purest love,
we shed peril at the feet of the beloved
to be hoofed aside at whim,
engendering forgetfulness of origin?

None of us remembers the journey begun
before donning flesh and folly to pass a century,
winding back through that keyhole to eternity.
Prior to shaking more fuel on the fire, remember:
the Master comes in many disguises.

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4 thoughts on “One Hundred Years

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