In the Beginning
Every word fell to the ground under the weight of meaning. We held each one up to the light. Those words that made sense were like truths to us. The others, in time, were more valuable because they could mean anything we needed them to mean.
winter solstice terns churning the mist
Published by
Bob Lucky
Bob Lucky lives in Portugal. His work has appeared and is forthcoming in various journals including Modern Haiku, tinywords, Rattle, MacQueen?s Quarterly, Presence, The Haibun Journal, and others. He's the author of Ethiopian Time (Red Bird Chapbooks), Conversation Starters in a Language No One Speaks (SurVision Books), My Theology (Cyberwit) and What I Say to You (proletariat.org).
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This is great, Bob. Wonderful juxtaposition of prose and haiku, in content and tone.
clear/ vague tern/mist
Simple is great.
Bravo Bob!
Very nicely done!
Excellent use of words…
Lovely, gentle reflection on human thought
Yes!
Thanks to everyone for the kind comments.
Really enjoyed this piece
Love this one, Bob.
Just there, no words in a fancy garb.
Very difficult to write like this. . . it's much easier to hide behind the grandeur of a language.
Wow!
Really beautiful !