Our Glassrooms

The Postlude

Ignorance, elders always said was blissQuestioning so, was what led me amissBut hands were held, someone drove me throughFound words along the cove that near me drewIdeas and ways of putting them togetherFell in place as it happened before, neverFrom titling to writing the epilogueT ‘was journeying from temple to synagogueAs every challenge was fought to end the strifeThoughts slowly were clearer and larger than lifeBut could do nothing much, but collect pebblesTill strewn were they, to trounce the rubblesDid I do it? Nay, shall I say it was HimThe illumination that dispelled the dimGiving expression to perceptiveness was but an excuseSalvaged from indulgence, one amongst many rescuesBeing giving and surrendering is the answerReceiving ...