Joan's poems

You will learn,
Late,
But you will learn
The meaning.
I hope not when you are
On the bed,
Dying.

We are given a set of funny signs
To look at and
Nothing else.
These dazzle us,
Our disappointment we must
Find alone. And the more
Dulled we have become, the more are
We dazzled.

But it could be, that
Our own
Light;
From inside,
Pure and real,
Beckons to us
In our confusion.

Then, however
Small the voice and pale
The flame, we must
Take heed.
We may have to sever
A cord, such as was done at
Our birth.

The difference stages have
Their great beauty and
Their utility,
But we must move on,
Listening and watching,
Perhaps hesitating,
Alone.

Joan Mac Dougall