Thursday, March 04, 2010

"He waited while the appointed whisperers repeated the words, the hall filled, it seemed, with the sound of a breeze." --Daniel Abraham, A Betrayal in Winter (2007)

Exquisitely futile are the books
men write to say what they know of God.
It matters to them ever so much
their words be thought to harbor truth.
When i deny this vain presumption
it's to draw a line between
the folly that a fall may cure
and that which nothing can redeem

1 comment:

tipota said...

quite beautiful, and true. writing in dust that the wind blows away