written on March fourth

Lois Linkens

lois e. linkens

there is no other peace quite like this—

ne’er did i know a calm of such great claim.

claim to me, without force or twist of will—

I cannot place, I do not know its name.

I did not knock or ask or seek to find,

no hinge did creak beyond my finger’s touch.

my lips were resolutely stopped of praise,

I was not on the lookout for this much.

the sculpted world does sit around me now.

a masterpiece knows it’s faults— it points them

out, and gives us tools to sweetly right them.

an artist pokes to deeper thoughts allow.

such art is given us with which to play—

i know of One who does not go away.

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