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Yet Beyond | A Poem by Elaine Meredith

Slipping into a silent calm;
recall, feeling, nuances, moments
of lost memories, none which tinder
fires of misgiving or regrets
coming suddenly into midnight’s
stark solitude.

Where others have a measure
constant and unfailing, that they
themselves credit not a moment
more than folly; pleading goodwill
for some way of certain means
to given ends.

Its plain dealing seen so estimable
a thing gifted of healthful neglects;
a class of virtuous features: flinty
facades over spellbinding whirlpools,
a charade gaining bounty uncovered
beneath bewilderment.

That when one comes into depths
of a wilderness, in brief instants of
storm’s calm and measureless night,
where are lifted from pools treasures
by shadowed forms, ask no trifles
or notions, and beware all reason.

Such lands of evening must remain
surely within the slumber of those
yet nurtured by their kindly dreams,
and the silence of boundless solitude
that in other times and other places
can not go at a single price.


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