Poem: Strange Light

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Strange Light

The morning light is odd this day.
For a brief few moments, the world looks like a postcard
from the fifties, distorted colors and strange shadows.

It is not, you understand, a beautiful thing.
There are lies in the light,
and nothing seems quite real.

Technicolor gone bad
and you pray as the sun rises,
that true colors will return

and the light you know will prove more real
than this strange light of new mournings.

About this poem

I am a creature of grace. I believe all people matter. I believe in the power of kindness. I believe 1st Corinthian 13 love is the greatest power there is. And today’s politics make a mockery of much that I believe.

And still, I believe.

Tom

PS: The picture was taken in Rupert, Vermont.

 

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