NR Digital

Poetry

by William W. Runyeon

SMOOTH AS A WHISPER

The North Star,
being the one around which
the others appear to circulate,
is the one by which
we actually navigate,
and have for millennia.
A deep-seated awareness
of thunder in the distance
will not bring the storm.
It could go elsewhere.
Our understanding of the still point
is always caught up
with the time when
the storm comes;
it is where the mind goes,
it is what we remember.
When the storm goes elsewhere,
we forget.
The mind that thinks upon the infinite
will ever be caught up in experience,
limited and colored, yet no less true.
The life we live
is driven by the arrow of time,
is colored by its spinning feathers,
holds the secrets of its shaft,
bears its own point of truth,
and feels the gravity
of its passage
in the endpoint we call death.
There are, after all, so many stars;
the pattern of the archer
moves slowly with them
as an ancient truth of legend,
and the clouds, smooth
as a whisper, have moved on.

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