The Pig

by

Mark Andrew Holmes


Santa has a very special gift to give--

There is no innocence, not for long;

It dies when the gates of the senses open;

Dreams are stars, they are not countries;

The rainbow always dies in the sun.

Sweep out the doors of perception--

As the cobwebs go flying, you still see the Infinite--

But from within, not from without.

Mount Holofernes' head above your front door

And stand on the Rock, looking up at the Tree.

Darwin holds the Scales; life's light as a feather.

Where are there heroes except in your soul?


© 2003 by Mark Andrew Holmes.


For endnotes to this poem, click here.



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