Sometimes he writes from darkness
cynical that what has been
will simply repeat
spinning endlessly round
new faces, new names
old motives
but he is not certain
he stacks these to one side of his desk

Sometimes he writes from hope
optimistic that compassion and tolerance
clean water and endless abundance
are within reach
but neither is he persuaded
he stacks these to the opposite side

He writes throughout the winter
some to the left
some to the right
until one spring day he pauses
caps his pen,
rises from his chair
and walks away

He reflects throughout the summer
occasionally selecting pieces to re-read
some from the left stack
some from the right
nodding occasionally
sometimes muttering
sometimes chuckling

Autumn’s frost chills the air
first fire of the season in the fireplace
he misses writing
taking a coin from his pocket
he flips it then piece by piece
feeds one stack into the flames
walks to his desk
selects a pen
and begins to write

Marv HImmel
September 17, 2015 ©

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