Still
by Jerry Clark
Still, standing before
The door of what
is yet to be?
Yes.
And my heart beats
Excitedly.
Our perceptions of mystery begins
As a womb bound infant
And
The secrecy of next.
Then, into the world the
Same newborn becomes
An adult.
Still not knowing the future.
Not even the next few minutes.
Still, plans are made and shoved
Into place as if to control events
Hidden about life's every corner.
Still, we plot and plod
To the next mystery
As if to maintain
The security of our destiny.
Still, filled with hope, I am
Before the door.
Still.
Poetry
Gay Love ADVICE
