For a moment,
everything was clear,
and when that happens
you see that the world
Don't we all secretly know this?
It's a perfectly balanced mechanism
of shouts and echoes
pretending to be wheels and cogs,
chiming beneath a mystery-glass we call life.
Below it and around it?
Men with hammers,
men with knives,
men with guns.
Women who twist
what they cannot dominate
what they cannot understand.
A universe of horror and loss
surrounding a single lighted stage
where mortals dance
from 11-22-63: A Novel
by Steven King
Poem #14, National Poetry Month 2012
I was listening to 11-22-63 in the car this morning, and when I heard this, I shut off my iPod and just let King's words soak in.
Later, during Saturday errands, I took the print copy of the book off the shelf at B&N, found my spot, and (like a spy or something) took photos of the text on the two pages.
On Thursday night (at the cake pop event), Cathy was talking about how she was living with her eyes wide open for the next poem. Yeah, me, too. And apparently, we should have our ears open as well. Thank you, Mr. King, for today's poem.