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The poem weaves its mystery

Between the lines

The spaces fine

The pause allows a slip in time

Where all that holy is resides.


We are the carriers

The receivers and magnifiers

Of sentiment and feeling

Growing through us like

The tendrils of the vine.




Or is it that we are

Carriers of a dimly seen fire

Our perceptions not yet able

To see and hold that much light.

What is it, this mystery

That humans are?


If we were candles

On a dark night

Would our light carry far?

Would we be pinwheels of light

Or fireworks

Lighting up the entire night sky?


Through us, within us, without us

Something lives, and awaits its life.


- Peg Simon

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