"Poety is something more philosophic and of graver import than history, since its statements are of the nature of universals, whereas those of history are singulars."
-Aristotle

by Daniel Morgan

"Clouds they are without water, carried about of winds; trees whose fruit withereth, without fruit, twice dead, plucked up by the roots; raging waves of the sea, foaming out their own shame; wandering stars, to whom is reserved the blackness of darkness for ever."
-Jude 12-13

When pearly seeds of winter slow
Blue waters to their banks,
Where trees twice dead and fruitless stare,
The roots exposed upon the sky,
Moon the ever-fixe'd eye,
Some autumns even gods despise.

I thought I heard a pine cry softly
Though none of them confessed it.
Some twigs lay broken in the mire
And some within the frozen lake.
This mortality in me I wait
That in its bark would crack and break.

In the empty stone-rolled sky,
I tucked my coat and asked
If I were not forever prone
To tread around, a-void His path.
I feel my name in dust, my past
Awaiting the heel of His wrath.

But then it's said that Mary knew
The one thing needed.
Just so, ol' Pete sure didn't shake
The water off his doubting feet,
Nor the Water shake off Pete
When he faithed his water-walking feet.

Whilst Johnny, he tells me to be of good cheer:
Don't mind the waves for there's torment in fear,
But I say love has too — so there.

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