FOUR OF X

There’s more than minds can say or words can think,
But hearts decide our thoughts and love defines
The lines that spill as blood, or tears, or ink--
While souls decide what hides behind the lines.
As patterns change, so, too, the warp, the weft,
As texture goes from rough to smooth to rough!
There’s never just what’s right, there’s wrong, there’s left--
Of dreams for what’s too much than what’s enough.
As chaos comes, come, too, our doubts, our fears
Of all the dark loose ends--those fraying threads--
That somehow can’t be snipped by knives or shears,
Like all the grey split ends on aging heads:
The heads that vanquish threats while writing wrongs
In works of art like pointless little songs!

D. S. BIGGS
March 14, 2010