Life creates an unceasing profile -
A cross that runs vertically down
To where no man remains defenseless.
Neither do I in accepting the falling
Shoulders that come down like heavy suns.
Among trees I stand, invisibly bent
To the slant stalks - amid the pillars
Leaning against the beatitudes of stone,
The lamentations of many sounds, and
All the shared segments of grief - my own
Profile to entertain unspent fortune,
Or, to be least myself, be as congruous
As the man - He who is as defenselessly
Profiled as expired on the cross beam.
PLEASE ENCOURAGE AUTHOR,
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