Slow Stain of Beginnings

Where shall I begin or end

Loses its meaning over broadcloth

Of stars from which we

devise symbols as we will.

Leave the loom and maker

Whose rede is not ours to reckon.

What do we read or trace our pointer

for others is our own.

In the birth of star

We shall rejoice and wail with bitter tears

For the loss of our innocence

Since no amends we may make

For a star that has died

In the cosmic mirth of beginnings.

benny

14 Nov,13