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We Mortals

We long for
the perfection
in these things
of the world,
Life certain in
its bilateral symmetry,
Generations strung
like pearls on
an imagined wire.
We squint at the sun.
We marvel at the
plaintive syllables
of songbirds.
We admire
tallness and clarity.
Feeling the
vibrations of it all
beneath our feet,
We rhapsodize
distances suggested
upon moonless nights
daring to name the ineffable.
We write poems and
chant to the mysteries.
We dance round fires
in clearings we have
made in the forest.
We weep for the
spirits of fallen trees.
Facing death
we avert our eyes.
When great things succumb,
We tell ourselves
they were never there.
Thirsty, we lie on
our backs, allowing
our mouths to fill
with rainwater, and
hope to rise, like blossoms
from the dust.


Daniel Thomas Moran



"The youth gets together his materials to build a bridge to the moon, or, perchance, a palace or temple on the earth, and, at length the middle-aged man concludes to build a wood-shed with them."

-Henry David Thoreau


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